Drag My Brother
by afanoftvd
Summary: Inspired by the events of season 3. Damon attempts to drag Stefan back from the edge.
1. Chapter 1

_Many thanks to CreepingMuse and JWAB for an overhaul and renovation way beyond the call of beta duty. Special thanks to JWAB for the constant reminders not to play it safe. You really helped this story find its legs._

1 Day Zero

The blood rushed into Stefan's body, electrifying every cell.

"Stop." A quiet voice, even more compelling than the blood, drew him away. The lure of the blood completely evaporated. Stefan looked down at the unconscious body in his arms.

"Elena?" He peered at her curiously. He remembered perfectly that just a few minutes earlier he was so consumed with love that he would have willingly given up his life for her, but now he couldn't fathom what that felt like.

"Well, mate." The voice again. "Why don't you bring that one along? I'll clean up the snack wrappers." Klaus led Stefan into the gym, tossed Dana and Chad's bodies over his shoulder, and headed out to the back parking lot. He dumped the bodies in the trunk of his car.

"Put that one in the front," he directed. Stefan complied, slipping Elena's inert form into the front seat. "We're done for now," Klaus grinned. "Go have some fun, Ripper."

Stefan walked away without a backward glance. He slipped into the woods behind the school, then picked up his pace, sprinting the rest of the way to the boarding house. He slowed down when he reached the driveway, approaching the house cautiously. Watching, listening. He walked up to the front door and tested the knob. Unlocked as usual. He stepped inside and stopped. The house was still, silent. There wasn't even the crackle of a dying ember in the fireplace.

Stefan took the stairs to his room two at a time, finally pausing in the doorway. The room was uncannily familiar, with only a few minor changes. A chair was missing, and the rough hewn pedestal table sported some new scars. A few piles of books and knickknacks were neater than he remembered.

Stefan pulled open a drawer and found his car keys. Out of the corner of his eye he caught his journal, face down on the floor. He flipped over the mangled pages. It fell open to his last entry.

_**June 30, 2010**_

_**My brother is dying. I would do anything, give up anything, sacrifice myself, if I could just have a glimmer of hope of saving his life.**_

Stefan snapped the book shut and tossed it aside, his face an unemotional mask. He walked over to his haphazardly stacked journals. He rifled through the shelves and fished out a new volume, its pages pristine. He walked back to his desk, snapped up a pen and wrote quickly, not bothering to sit down.

_**August 29, 2010**_

He ripped out the page and began again.

_**Day Zero**_

_**Today is the beginning of eternity, an eternity of absolute clarity, unburdened by emotion or conscience. I will never feel again. Of this one thing I am certain. I can never go back. The guilt would destroy me. I bit Elena tonight.**_

_**My task is simple now: to stop fighting the blood, let it do its work, erase any remnants of my former self.**_

Stefan closed the book and blurred down the stairs to the garage. He jumped into his car and gunned it hard, then peeled out of the house and onto the road, reaching highway 29 in under five minutes. He took the south on-ramp and gunned the engine again, taking advantage of his hair trigger reflexes to thread a fine line through the traffic. He pushed the car to its limits. He rolled down the windows and turned up the radio, the wailing of heavy metal music reverberating through the car. His fingers drummed incessantly to the beat, his eyes focused on the road ahead. Within a few minutes a police car flashed its lights behind him. Stefan skidded to a sudden stop, leaving dark tire streaks on the road. He rolled down his window and waited, listening to the man's call into dispatch.

"Can't believe this guy." The officer said. "He was doing 120, weaving through traffic like a maniac. I'm going to bring him in. Over and out."

Stefan shot out an arm when the policeman approached, wrenching him close. He ripped out the man's throat, a scream dying on his lips, barely a tortured gurgle. Stefan held him in place, draining him in a few seconds. He held the body upright, climbed out of the car, and walked it into the trees by the road. Countless cars sped by, oblivious to what had just transpired.

Stefan covered the hundred miles to Lynchburg in just over half an hour, compelling two more policemen along the way. He filled up at a gas station and bought a few extra gallon containers of gas for the trunk.

Lynchburg's streets were mostly deserted, like every other small town on a Sunday night. Stefan was unconcerned. He knew exactly where to find what he was looking for. He headed directly to the river, where bars were spilling out their patrons. He drove to the end of the wharf and pulled over. A derelict firetrap teetered in the middle of nowhere, tucked against an abandoned warehouse. The windows were blacked out and boarded over. No signs. No lights. Only the faint sound of breathing gave any indication of activity inside. Its patrons needed no advertising. They had only one purpose, to get drunk, hard and fast. Stefan climbed out of the car and walked around to the back of the building. A muscle bound biker brutalized a hooker behind a rusted dumpster. Stefan ripped them apart and shoved the dumpster against the back door of the building. "You will not scream," he ordered, dragging the two into the bar. "No one leaves," he said to the biker, leaving him posted at the door. He scoped out the room. A couple dozen patrons, hunched over their drinks, oblivious to his arrival.

"Why can't we leave? Please let me go," the woman pleaded, her eyes blown wide with fear. Stefan tore at her neck, gulping the hot rushing liquid, driving his teeth deeper and deeper into her, chasing every last drop of blood. A cascade of screams instantly erupted from the patrons. They stampeded over each other in a futile attempt to reach doors. He let them scream. Their cries were the nattering of insects, as he ferociously devoured them all, immersing himself in their blood.

"All you can eat buffet." Klaus' amused voice echoed from the doorway. Stefan dropped the final body with a guttural growl, his body jolting with the rush of the blood. He turned to face Klaus, his eyes engorged, his fangs extended.

"How'd you find me?"

"I have my methods," Klaus smiled, his eyes taking in the bodies strewn around Stefan. "Hunting out of town. I see you can still keep your wits about you."

"Not about to go on an indiscriminate killing spree in plain sight ," Stefan said matter-of-factly. "What do you want?"

"I have a little job for you," Klaus smiled.

"Thought you'd be playing with your little doppelganger right about now."

"I have what I need from her," Klaus said. "She's well enough for the moment, under your brother's care."

"You let Damon take her?" Stefan asked surprised. "Is that wise? He can be somewhat erratic."

"Ah! That's where you come in. I need someone less emotional to do it." Klaus locked eyes with Stefan. "Keep Elena alive and well."

Stefan nodded in acquiescence. "Going somewhere?"

"Planned a little sightseeing tour of the country, a few days in the South, a few in the Pacific Northwest. We'll see where whimsy takes me after that." He tossed an arm over Stefan's shoulders."I don't need to tell you that this is just between us, mate." His eyes caught Stefan's again. "Or maybe I do."

"Are we done?" Stefan asked with a hint of impatience.

"I have half a mind to bring you along," Klaus said wistfully, releasing Stefan's shoulders and heading back down the alley. "We would have so much fun."

Stefan stood still, impassive, until Klaus disappeared, then he blurred to his car, retrieving the gas cans. He soaked the remnants of the bodies with gasoline then doused the rest of the building. He walked out, tossing a match behind him. The old wood lit up like kindling, setting the building ablaze. By the time the sound of fire engines pierced the air, he was back on the highway, doing a leisurely 85.

Stefan pulled into the driveway at the Salvatore house and parked beside Damon's car. The house was alive with warm light from the fireplace. The crackle of the flames mingled with clinking glass. Stefan followed the sounds to the library. He stood in the hall a moment, listening.

"He's really gone this time. I watched it happen. After everything that we went through to get... to help him. Now he's just...gone." Elena paused a moment , then spoke again, her voice tearful. "Where were you, Damon? "

"I shouldn't have left. I promise you... I will never leave you again," Damon replied, his voice as distressed as Elena's.

Stefan stepped into the room to see a pale and frightened Elena huddled in a chair, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Damon hovered beside her, playing a role that only hours earlier Stefan would have fulfilled.

"Well, isn't this cozy?" Stefan taunted.

Damon shot up instantly, placing himself between Stefan and Elena. "What are you doing here, brother?"

Stefan casually poured himself a drink. "Last I checked, I live here. Klaus is gone, but he's asked me to keep watch on you until he returns. From now on, you're under my protection." He shot Elena a predatory glare. "Mmm, by all means. Carry on. "

Stefan took his drink and casually walked up the stairs. He turned at the sound of footsteps in the hallway and caught a glimpse of Damon, supporting a weak and pale Elena, still bundled in the blanket, his arm firmly around her waist. The front door opened and closed, followed by the purr of Damon's car disappearing quickly down the road.

Stefan finished his drink and backtracked to the library. He poured another and downed it in one swallow, then grabbed the bottle and headed back up the stairs, his fingers tapping an incessant rhythm on the glass. He swiped the journal off his desk and sat down, one leg draped casually over an arm of his leather armchair. He flipped the book open, took a swig from the bottle, and began to write.

_**I have no ties, no one to care about, nothing to fear. It's interesting how much power it gives you, how it generates instant fear in others. It was amusing, watching my brother's protective instincts kick in the moment he realized I was home, seeing the fear in his eyes, knowing he has no effect on me anymore. He had Elena hustled out of the house in less than a minute. He's probably standing guard over her bed while she sleeps. Lovesick fool. He's right to be afraid though, but he should be more afraid for himself. I'm not compelled to watch over him.**_

Damon appeared silently in Stefan's doorway, leaning on the frame, his arms crossed. Stefan put down his pen and slowly turned to Damon, staring down his brother. "Feed our little blood donor some juice and cookies to plump her back up?"

"Don't think that just because you've checked out that you get a free pass," Damon whispered through clenched teeth. Stefan rolled his eyes dismissively. Damon held his ground.

"I promised Elena I'd drag you back to her, little brother, and I'm making that same promise to you."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Thanks everyone for the wonderful feedback. Thanks once again to Creeping Muse and JWAB for a marvelous beta.**

**2. Most Reluctant Rescue**

Stefan dropped onto one knee, in the boardinghouse foyer, Elena's stakes embedded in his abdomen. Elena stripped off her wrist-mounted launcher, pressed it into Alaric's hand and stalked out without a backward glance. Alaric shot Stefan an amused smile, then shut the door with a satisfied click.

Stefan half groaned, half laughed as he buckled over in pain. He rolled onto his back, trying to pull the stakes out, when Damon's boots appeared at his head. Damon reached over and unceremoniously ripped the stakes out, eliciting a howl from Stefan.

Damon tossed a couple of blood bags onto the floor. "Drink up."

Stefan rolled onto his hands and knees with a groan. He swept up the blood bags and pressed them into Damon's chest. "I prefer mine at, how did you put it? 98.6," he said.

"Touché, little brother," Damon said with smile. He tossed the blood bags onto the hall table. "That's twice in one night that Elena took you out. Where's the ripper edge?"

"I see you didn't make it through the night unscathed either." Stefan nodded at the bloody hole in Damon's shirt.

"Marshmallow-tipped skewer, courtesy of Rebekah," Damon grinned, idly flipping the stakes in his hand.

"You should have known better than to try and take me out," Stefan said.

"Can't have you indiscriminately chowing down on the locals," Damon shrugged.

"This has nothing to do with the locals," Stefan said softly, meeting Damon's eyes. "Elena needs both of us. We need to work together if we're going to protect her." Damon eyes flashed with defiance, then darted away in reluctant surrender.

Cold satisfaction flickered across Stefan's features. He opened the door. "Going hunting. You interested?"

"They're all yours." Damon waived him out the door. "Knock yourself out."

"What's the problem, Damon?" Stefan asked casually. "I'm finally what you wanted all these years. Embrace your nature and all that."

"Swan diving into a pool of blood's not quite what I had in mind," Damon replied cagily.

Stefan flashed Damon a reptilian grin. "Come on, "Stefan prodded. " How many times have we hunted together? Once, twice? This could be our big breakthrough, an epic bonding moment, the Salvatore brothers teaming up."

"I'll pass," Damon drawled, tossing the stakes from hand to hand. "But do me a favor. Don't bring dinner home anymore. The house can't take it."

Stefan sneered . "You expect me to care about the house, when I don't even care about you?"

"You'll always care about me, little brother," Damon said breezily.

Stefan barked a patronizing laugh. "You're even more pathetic than Elena."

Damon flew at Stefan in a rage, impaling him again. He shoved Stefan out the door, sending him bouncing off his car onto the driveway.

"Get out of here before I do something I'll regret," Damon seethed and slammed the door. He pressed his back against it, head in hands, pulling at his hair, then pushed himself away and paced a tight circle, shaking his hands in frustration. He reached for the door, hesitating once, twice, before finally opening it. Stefan was just pulling out of the driveway. Damon blurred in front of Stefan's car, one hand on the hood, forcing Stefan to hit the brakes hard. Damon flashed a crooked grin. "Let's hunt."

Stefan leaned over the passenger seat and opened the passenger door, waving Damon in.

"How many did you eat yesterday?" Damon asked, as he climbed in.

"Lost track at a couple dozen." Stefan grinned.

"Obfuscation." Damon eyed Stefan suspiciously. "How much blood does one person need?"

"What, am I gaining weight?" Stefan said drily. "Seems the twister sisters mysteriously disappeared," he added with amusement.

"Important 10am lecture at the U of V," Damon said with exaggerated innocence. "They just couldn't miss it."

"You sneak a taste?" Stefan teased.

Damon broke into a broad grin. "That Alexandra, touch of madras spice, mmm. So where to?"

"Little pub outside Sweet Briar."

"Second course of co-eds," Damon nodded approvingly.

Stefan took the road leading to the highway, but then detoured toward Elena's. "What are you doing, Stefan?" Damon asked warily.

"Detour," Stefan taunted.

"Elena doesn't want to see you." Damon grabbed the wheel, forcing the car to the side of the road.

"I have a job to do," Stefan said, peeling Damon's hand away. "I'm compelled to protect her." Stefan pulled into the street and circled the block once before parking on a side street. They sat for a few minutes, windows rolled down, listening to the sounds of the neighborhood. Stefan finally blurred to the tree beside Elena's bedroom, Damon shadowing him closely. They both climbed up, keeping to the shadows. Elena's silhouette appeared through the curtains, toothbrush in her mouth, arms up releasing a pony tail.

"All's well at the Gilbert Haven," Stefan said flatly and immediately jumped down. Damon lingered for a moment and then followed his brother back to the car.

"I'm surprised you haven't shackled yourself to her." Damon said, on their way back to the car.

Stefan started the engine and headed for the highway. "You forget, I know Elena better than anyone. She's determined to live a 'normal' life, Damon. She didn't break her pattern for Elijah or Klaus, and she's not going to do it now. I know where she is every minute of the day. Besides, if it's life or death, she'll call me."

"You seem pretty confident," Damon said skeptically.

"Who else is she going to call, you?" Stefan scoffed, his tone demeaning, his eyes blank. "You can braid her hair whenever her tender feelings are bruised."

"Must suck, being compelled to watch over her, when all you can think about is getting at her neck," Damon snapped.

They fell into a tense silence for the remainder of the drive. Stefan turned on the music, drumming his fingers to a driving rock beat that shook the car. He pulled over at a small bar just off the highway.

"So, are we ripping heads off these days?" Damon quipped, stepping out of the car.

"If I did, I'd have to take out the whole bar," Stefan grinned.

Stefan ducked his head slightly as he walked into the bar, suddenly switching on a timid persona. He walked over to the bar, a confused Damon at his heels, and ordered a couple beers.

"ID," the bored bartender ordered lackadaisically. With feigned nervousness, Stefan pulled open his wallet and showed his ID. "You too," the bartender said, turning to Damon.

"I'm beyond geriatric." Damon drawled. The bartender shrugged and pushed the beers at them.

"What's with the ID?" Damon asked.

"Part of the attraction," Stefan explained, then turned and smiled shyly at a couple of girls in a booth across the room. Within a minute one approached him.

"Freshman?" she asked.

"What gave me away?" he replied, carefully presenting his old, self-conscious demeanor.

She took a step closer. "That fish out of water look. Not sure if the bartender will let your fake ID slide."

"You've got me pegged," Stefan smiled. "I'm Stefan."

"Barb. Come sit with us."

"I don't want to impose. I'm not the best company right now," Stefan said, with a sincerity that caused Damon to look at him sharply.

"No imposition. We'll take you under our wing, show you the ropes," Barb cooed, taking his hand. Stefan winked at Damon as Barb led him to her booth. Stefan flashed Barb's friend at the booth a wide smile. "I think that guy over there wants you to ask him to dance." He nodded toward Damon.

"I'm on it," she grinned, climbing out of the booth.

"Weird," Barb shrugged. "She's never that bold."

Stefan leaned in to Barb. "Let's get out of here," he whispered.

"Let's not." Damon appeared beside them, blocking Stefan's path. "But my brother would like a taste of you."

"Sure," Barb smiled complacently, her pupils blown wide.

Stefan leaned in and drank. Damon pulled Stefan aside, leaving the girl slightly faint, a few rivulets of blood on her neck. Damon licked her neck clean, then whispered softly into her ear. "Take a cab home, drink a pitcher of orange juice, and go to bed." He tucked a fifty into her hand and turned to Stefan. "I'm guessing that wasn't enough for you."

"Not even a start," Stefan said, his eyes scanning the crowd predatorily. "Should just finish her."

"Use your brain, Stefan." Damon rapped his knuckles against Stefan's temple. "Or did Klaus fry your logic circuits, too? Eternity lasts a long time. You'll eventually turn all those feelings back on again. Are you really so stupid that you'd set yourself up for another round of self-loathing and martyrdom?"

"Quit the babysitting." Stefan shoved Damon back. "It's not gonna work."

"What kind of babysitter takes his little brother to a bar?" Damon grinned mischievously. "We're just getting started. Come on: I'll compel, you drink."

Hours later, the brothers walked in the door of the Salvatore mansion. "Well that was a hoot and a half," Damon drawled, with a hint of a genuine smile. "Want a drink?" He turned toward the living room.

"I'm gonna crash for a bit," Stefan said, heading for the stairs.

"Bet you haven't slept in weeks," Damon said. "Gotta have eyes in the back of your head around Klaus."

Stefan didn't contradict him. He stopped at the first landing. "Damon, don't delude yourself," Stefan said, his voice ice cold. "Just because no one died tonight doesn't mean anything's changed."

"Aren't you afraid I'll stake you in your sleep?" Damon taunted.

Stefan broke into an angelic smile that didn't come anywhere close to touching his eyes. "You won't."

Damon turned his back dismissively and returned to the living room. He tossed a log on the fire, then poured himself a full glass of bourbon. He sat in an armchair, his face impassive, watching the flames as he slowly savored the drink. He cocked his head up toward the ceiling, listening carefully as the sounds of movement gradually died off. Eventually, Damon breezed up to Stefan's doorway and for just a few seconds he watched his brother sleep, his seventeen-year-old face momentarily innocent.

Damon walked back downstairs. He toed the blood spot on the rug at the foot of the stairs, scowling in irritation. He knelt down and rolled up the rug then, checked the others in the hall. With growing annoyance, he rolled them up as well. He was just finishing with the last one when a vase crashed to the floor in the living room, shattering in pieces. He pushed the rug away angrily.

"Keep it up, Stefan," he called out and began to pick up the shards. A brutal punch, out of nowhere, caught him under his chin, sending him flying across the room. He hit the floor hard, letting out a painful groan before passing out.

"Yeah, not to worry. I'll just untangle myself." Damon's irritated voice followed Stefan to the front door. He was barely out the door when the smell of burning flesh turned him around. With a speed driven by instinct he was back in the living room even before Damon's screams registered in his ears. He positioned his body to cast a partial shadow on Damon, cutting off Damon's cries. He stared at Damon dispassionately as Damon struggled to remain in the shade.

"Shut the drapes!" Damon ordered desperately.

Stefan stepped aside, allowing the full force of the sun's rays to assault Damon again, extracting another crescendo of tortured screams, then finally reached up and pulled the drapes closed. Damon collapsed forward against his bindings, panting hard as his body began to heal.

"I get it Stefan, you're a ripper." Damon gasped. "You take pleasure in other people's pain. You don't have to keep proving it."

"I don't take pleasure in anything," Stefan said flatly.

"Should have just let me burn two months ago," Damon said bitterly.

"I honestly don't care," Stefan shrugged. He stepped over Damon's ring without even bothering to glance at it.

Damon stretched his hands, trying out the newly-healing skin. "Sure, so what brought on rescue mission three thousand four hundred and twenty one? " Damon asked, watching Stefan carefully.

"Don't want the stench of roasting flesh lingering in the upholstery," Stefan replied with the same impassive face.

"You're telling me you care about the furniture?" Damon scowled, in utter disbelief.

"About as much as I care about you," Stefan said lightly. "Who'd you tick off now?"

"I'm thinking a certain Mason Lockwood, supposedly very dead werewolf."

"Resurrected and howling to exact revenge?" Stefan asked skeptically.

"I chained him to this chair. Shoved this same poker into his chest. You do the math."

Stefan shrugged, uninterested, and turned to leave.

"Help me out of this thing," Damon asked, frustrated. "Unless you want to relive the most reluctant rescue of all time, Groundhog Day style."

Stefan held Damon's gaze, his eyes flat, uncaring. His expression softened for a fleeting moment then instantly petrified. He ripped the chains off Damon with a couple of vicious pulls, breaking Damon's wrist in the process.

"Thanks," Damon sneered, wincing as the bones reset themselves.

"I don't want you dead," Stefan murmured.

Damon searched Stefan's eyes, a hint of hope in Damon's expression.

"You'll help keep her alive," Stefan said blandly.

"She has a name," Damon spat with disgust.

"Off to school. Have to make sure Eleeeena" - Stefan drew out her name mockingly - "doesn't trip over a crack in the linoleum and cream her brains into the floor outside English class." He patted Damon's shoulder, a hollow forgery of an action he had repeated countless times in the past year, and left.

Damon scooped his ring off the floor and slipped it on with a sigh of relief. "Can't believe I'm thinking this, but I could use Lexi right about now," he grumbled.


	3. Chapter 3

3. 1922

The strains of the Charleston filled the air of the elegantly appointed speakeasy. "Daisy, you are delicious," Damon purred, burying his face in the neck of his dance partner as he dropped her into a dip in perfect time with the music. Daisy, a majestic blond in a jeweled gown, laughed with pleasure as he raised her to her feet and pulled her close, then spun her across the dance floor. When the floor began to fill up around them, he led her to a private booth. An oblong gift box awaited them at the table. Damon helped Daisy into her seat, then slid the box over to her.

"What's this?" Daisy smiled with anticipation.

"A little something I thought you could use," Damon said casually. Daisy opened the box to reveal a shimmering silk scarf. Its iridescent hues caught the light as she caressed it lovingly.

"It's beautiful," Daisy said, awestruck. Her expression grew serious. "Please remember that it's not necessary to buy me gifts," she said considerately.

"But you accept them so graciously," Damon teased.

"That I do," Daisy grinned and, with a heartfelt "thank you," she planted a passionate kiss on Damon's mouth. Damon returned it, then worked his way down to her neck. Only the barest flicker of a wince on Daisy's face hinted that he was doing something other than kissing her enthusiastically. His mouth moved back to her lips while he pressed a white handkerchief to her neck. Removing it a few moments later, he folded in the two small spots of blood and tucked it into his breast pocket. He wound the scarf around a slightly stunned Daisy's neck, making a simple knot, and turned to observe the club, now rapidly filling with patrons.

"Joe." Damon grabbed the arm of a passing waiter. "What's with the crowd tonight?"

"Raid at Gloria's," Joe explained. "Strange rumor going around, cops were using wooden bullets."

Damon nodded thoughtfully. He pulled out his wallet and handed several bills to Joe. "Make sure Daisy here gets home okay."

"Yes sir, Mr. Salvatore." Joe nodded enthusiastically.

He turned back to Daisy. " Have an errand to run. I'll see you tomorrow." He planted a final kiss on her lips, then disappeared into the crowd.

Damon approached Gloria's, studying the patrons, blending in easily among their tuxedos and gowns as they scattered down the side streets. He watched as the police removed their barricades, loaded pistols and machine guns into trucks, and sped off, sirens blaring. He blurred behind a tuxedo clad figure lurching out of the club, a whiskey bottle in his hand. Damon shot out an arm and turned the man toward him.

"Hey!" the man protested drunkenly, a frown crossing his unfamiliar face. Damon shoved the man aside, blurred one block over, and scanned the alley. Seeing no one, he moved to the next block, then the next, systematically expanding his search. He followed the crisp smell of warm human blood rising above the urine and garbage. At the far end of a long alley Stefan stood half shrouded in shadow, bent over a floundering body. The legs struggled to find purchase against the cobblestones, the arms grabbing uselessly at Stefan's jacket. It rapidly lost strength, knees giving way and arms falling at an awkward angle. Stefan let the body tumble out of his arms then sank to the ground himself, back against a wall, legs splayed out and arms hanging at his sides.

"Stefan," Damon called, his voice echoing down the alley. Stefan barely turned his head in acknowledgement. In a breath Damon hovered over Stefan, the stench from Stefan's victim assaulting his senses. Damon prodded it with a toe.

"What are you doing?" Confusion and disgust mingled in Damon's voice. Stefan didn't even bother to look up. "You can't stay here," Damon hissed. "The cops are everywhere. They're hunting vampires."

"I couldn't care less," Stefan said flatly , not even attempting to clean the blood smeared on his face. A few drops fell onto his shirt, staining the collar.

"My place is nearby. Come clean yourself up," Damon offered with a hesitant smile.

"Leave me alone," Stefan said. Sirens wailed in the background, getting louder by the second.

Damon yanked Stefan to his feet. "We're leaving now," he commanded.

"I said stay away from me!" Stefan roared, shoving Damon with such force that he slammed into the wall twenty feet down the alley. Damon's head hit the wall, cracking his skull and knocking him out for a few seconds.

By the time he regained consciousness, Stefan was gone. Groaning at the fiery spike of pain in his skull, Damon stumbled into the wall as he struggled to regain his equilibrium. With a snarl of fury he punched a hole in the brick wall, disintegrating the bricks.

Lexi was dressed in a crisp white nurse's uniform, her long hair tucked into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, as she sat on the edge of an elderly patient's bed in the emergency room of St. Luke's Hospital.

"You're looking much better, Mrs. Simpson," she said kindly.

"Thank you for sitting with me, dear," the woman replied. "I am afraid I've monopolized your time."

"It is always a pleasure visiting with you," Lexi smiled indulgently.

"Thank you, my dear."

"I was able to reach your daughter. She will return shortly to bring you home and the doctor will arrive soon with your discharge papers. I have enjoyed your company, Mrs. Simpson, but I hope we don't meet in these circumstances for a very long time."

"Tell that handsome husband of yours to take good care of you," Mrs Simpson said, taking Lexi's hand.

"Don't worry. I never let him forget it," Lexi smiled, patting the lady's hand. She walked over to the nurse's station and retrieved a floor length cape from a closet tucked behind the desk.

"Heading home, Ethel," she told the nurse stationed there.

"Thanks, Alexia. See you tonight."

Lexi swung the cape over her shoulders and stepped into the street just as the sky was beginning to gray with the first hints of morning light. She flipped the hood over her head and walked briskly around the block, turning into an alley. A man brandishing a knife stepped menacingly in front of her. Lexi studied him with amusement.

"Young ladies should know that alleys aren't safe," he leered with a gap-toothed smile. He stabbed at her, but the knife moved barely a fraction of an inch when a snarling figure rammed into him, drilling its teeth into his neck. Damon tossed the supposed assailant aside and flashed Lexi a bloody mouthed smile. Lexi slammed Damon against the wall, her hand throttling his throat.

"Back off, Damon," she hissed.

"I protect your virtue and this is the thanks I get?" Damon winced.

"Don't play with me," Lexi threatened, shoving Damon into the wall again.

"You're just mad that I snatched your breakfast out from under you." Damon mustered a crooked smile. "Though I'm surprised you'd go for the dregs, what with being a respectable member of society, nurse's uniform and all. And the prestigious St. Luke's at that," he added. "Great architecture. Gothic Revival suits you well."

Lexi sighed and dropped her arm, still wary. "What do you want?"

"Thought you might like an update on the escapades of my angelic brother."

Lexi frowned. "That one's in need of some serious redirection."

"Do you know where he is?" Damon asked hopefully.

"I don't keep track of his every movement, Damon. I have a life."

"Broke his pattern a couple days ago. Hasn't been around since," Damon said with concern.

"I'll keep my eyes open," Lexi nodded.

"Have to say this nursing ploy is pretty ingenious, what with the constant blood supply. Only works if you have control of yourself, but we all know you do," Damon taunted. "Maybe I should get myself a job there. Will you give me a reference?"

Lexi slammed Damon against the wall again. "Stay away from my work, Damon, or you will find yourself in pieces."

"Sun's about up," Damon groaned. Lexi tossed him to the ground in disgust and disappeared with a speed that even Damon's eyes couldn't follow.

Damon picked himself up and retraced the two blocks back to the hospital. He bypassed the clerk at the admissions desk and walked straight to the nurse's station.

"I have a waiting room full of patients. Leave your name with the clerk at the door and take a seat sir," a stern older woman directed.

Damon checked her name tag before locking eyes with her. "Perhaps you could help me for a moment, Ethel."

"Yes sir, I can spare a few moments for you," the nurse replied deferentially.

"You have a nurse working here. Ms. Branson?"

"Ah, Alexia," Ethel replied with affection. "One of our best."

"Tell me about her."

"She came to us as a volunteer during the influenza epidemic of 1918. Only seventeen years old at the time. She was a Godsend. Strong constitution, insisted on working through the night when others fell by the wayside. She has become one of our best nurses. The patients love her."

"I'm sure they do." Damon smiled. "I would like to send her a small memento of thanks for her exemplary service."

"We don't normally release our staff's addresses, but you are such a trustworthy young man. You have such nice eyes. I'm sure there would be no harm in this case." Ethel wrote the address on a slip of paper and handed it to Damon.

"Forget this conversation." Damon smiled beatifically and disappeared out the door.

Ethel blinked and gave herself a small shake. She put the pen down with a shrug and checked the waiting list. "Mr. Campbell," she called. "The doctor will see you now."

Damon led Daisy down the hall to Stefan's apartment. He pulled out a key and opened the door without bothering to knock.

"Whose place is this, Damon?" Daisy asked.

"My brother's." Damon said simply.

"Where is he?" Daisy asked.

"That's the million dollar question."

"How long has he been missing?" Daisy questioned.

"Couple days,"

"Is he why you left so quickly the other night?"

"Mmm, hmm," Damon murmured absently, stepping across the threshold. He studied the room, noting the unmade bed and a worn tuxedo jacket tossed over a chair. The room had a stillness that suggested it hadn't been occupied in days. The rays of the setting sun, creeping through the drapes, highlighted a thin layer of dust. "Stay here," he directed, walking over to the bookshelf beside the bed. He popped the hidden latch and entered the pantry, checking for fresh ink on the wall. Nothing new since the last time he'd snuck in. Damon snatched a bottle of champagne off the shelf, closed up the pantry and left the apartment with a concerned Daisy in tow.

"Is he like you?" Daisy asked.

"Stefan is nothing like me," Damon said sharply.

"Better or worse," Daisy prodded with a smile.

"Yeah," Damon threw a lazy arm around her. "Come on," he said, holding up the bottle. "Let's go quench our thirst."

"What brings my favorite Salvatore here this fine afternoon?" Gloria teased, her back to the door, as Damon slipped silently into her bar.

"Back in business, I see," Damon observed.

"My patrons are a thirsty bunch. They don't like to wait for their refreshments," Gloria explained, turning and giving him a once over.

"Who'd have thought a young thing like you could pull this place back together in just a couple of days?" Damon nodded approvingly as he took in the new paint and glistening floors.

"I'm older than you might think," Gloria smiled.

"You wear your age perfectly." Damon flashed her a genuine smile.

"Flattery will get you far, Mr. Salvatore," Gloria grinned. "So how can I help you?"

Damon frowned. "Checking on my wayward brother."

"Haven't seen hide nor hair of him since the night of the raid, but word came back of a few deaths down by the tracks."

"Thank you," Damon offered as he headed out the door.

"And courtesy will get you even further," Gloria called after him.

Stefan staggered over the train tracks, a fully whiskey bottle in hand. He half fell, half climbed into a boxcar, tearing the cuff of his blood-stained pants in the process. No patience for the cork, he smashed the top off the bottle and poured the burning liquid into his mouth, cutting his lip. He drank in one long swallow, draining the bottle in less than a minute, then fell back unconscious, his head cracking the wood floor of the boxcar.

Damon, slick in a tuxedo, stepped out from behind the adjacent boxcar. He paused for a moment to peer at Stefan's inert form, then quickly made his way across the tracks. He stepped purposefully into a bright white Mercedes Roadster convertible, slamming the door closed. The car's engine roared to life and the vehicle quickly disappeared into the dense streets of the city.

Damon pulled over in front of the speakeasy, his hair windswept. He climbed out and leaned with studied casualness against the car door, as the patrons began spilling out for the night. Daisy exited the club with a group of acquaintances. The confidence with which she carried herself outshone the other women in her party. She made polite chit-chat until her eyes caught Damon's, watching her from under long-lashed lids. She was immediately at his side, draping herself unashamedly against his chest.

"Perfect timing," she whispered into his ear. Her hand traced a furrow in Damon's forehead, smoothing it out. "Did you find your brother?"

"Yeah." Damon relaxed into her embrace, nuzzling her throat."Up for a little moonlight drive?" he asked.

"Absolutely," she replied. Damon helped her into the car, shutting the door behind her. "Where are we going?" Daisy asked.

"A little excursion out to the idyllic suburb of Glencoe." Damon smiled mischievously. Thirty minutes later they pulled over in front of a new home, surrounded by a well-manicured garden. Damon stepped out of the car and walked casually over to the passenger side, opening the door and offering his elbow. Shadows of movement were visible in the parlor window as they walked up the path to the front door. Damon rang the doorbell.

"Who would be calling this late?" a male voice asked from deep inside the house.

"I'll get it," Lexi replied, opening the door casually. "Ugh," she sighed and promptly shut the door.

Damon grinned and rang the bell again.

"What do you want?" Lexi eyed him suspiciously.

"Where are you manners, Lexi?" Damon chided her. "I haven't even had the opportunity to introduce my friend here."

"Alexia Branson." Lexi smiled kindly at the young woman. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss..."

"Daisy Cunningham," Damon interjected, a note of pride in his voice. He affectionately wrapped an arm around Daisy's shoulders.

"Looks like this one might live," Lexi half smiled.

"And very well at that." Damon winked at Daisy, then looked around admiringly. "Very domestic. White picket fence and everything." Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

"Get to the point," Lexi snapped impatiently.

Damon blinked. "Could use your particular talents…"

"You have the gall to come here," Lexi interrupted. "You unraveled fifty years of work in one night. Then you abandoned your own brother to a decade of hell."

"It wasn't supposed to happen that way." A hint of regret colored Damon`s voice. "I think he might be missing you right about now."

"I see him every year," Lexi argued."Stefan isn't ready for me,"

"You're going to let that stop you?" Damon cajoled.

"He's your brother. Why don't _you_ help him?" Lexi challenged him.

"Don't really have time to play nurse maid," Damon evaded. "Besides, I don't think you would approve of my type of help."

"I'm not doing it. Not this time, Damon." Lexi stepped back and closed the door.

"Are you okay?" Daisy asked, catching the shadow of hurt that crossed Damon's face. "Never better," he said with a practiced grin. "Time to go."

He led her back down the path, and opened the car door for her, his expression darkening again.

Daisy placed a hand on Damon's wrist, stopping him. "I need a moment," she said thoughtfully. She hurried up the path and rang the bell again. When the door opened she offered Lexi her hand. "Could we speak privately for a few minutes?"

"Come in," Lexi said gently. She led Daisy into the parlor and offered her a seat."Can I get you a drink? Water, tea, a glass of wine?"

"A glass of wine would be lovely," Daisy smiled.

Lexi stepped out of the room and returned promptly with two glasses of wine. She handed one to Daisy. "Did Damon put you up to this?" Lexi asked.

"You know Damon never asks for anything," Daisy chided her.

Lexi frowned with disapproval. "He just takes whatever he wants," she countered.

"So why is he asking now?" Daisy pressed.

Lexi rolled her eyes impatiently. "Enlighten me," she sighed.

Daisy sat forward on her seat and spoke, urgency in her voice. "He's scared Lexi. I don't know what happened with Stefan in the past. All I know is that Damon spent the last three days combing the town, trying to find him. He's afraid he might lose Stefan for good this time."

"Stefan is my best friend," Lexi said sadly.

"So help him," Daisy insisted. "Take your friend back. You're the only one that can do it. Please help Stefan."

"Do you even know him?" Lexi asked.

"No, but I know how Damon feels about him," Daisy said gently.

Lexi nodded, her eyes misting up. "You've chosen a difficult, and possibly very short life with us."

"But never boring," Daisy grinned. She raised her glass in a toast. "To best friends." Lexi clicked her glass. Daisy stood to leave. "Thank you for listening to me," she said gratefully.

"Take care of yourself," Lexi said, and led her to the door.

Damon waited, his back to the house. The barest smile crept into one corner of his mouth when the door cracked open behind him.

"Where is he?" Lexi asked softly.

Damon turned, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. "Train yard. South of town."

Damon helped Daisy into the Roadster. He walked over to the driver's side and jumped in, not bothering with his door. He gunned the engine and sped into the deserted street, pulling Daisy into a passionate kiss.

"What was that for?" Daisy asked, breathless.

"Celebration of the imminent end to a tragic chapter of sibling drama." He hit the gas again and the Roadster sprinted forward, gleaming in the moonlight.


	4. Chapter 4

4 A Toast

"Screw this Lexi plan. I think we could both use a drink." Damon shot Stefan a pointed look before disappearing up the stairs of the old jailhouse.

Stefan tore the manacles from his ankles and hauled himself onto unsteady legs. He followed his brother onto the street. Damon popped the trunk of the Camaro and tossed Stefan a small bundle of clothes. Stefan leaned against the car, watching his brother through calculating eyes.

"What's this?" Stefan asked.

"Make yourself presentable," Damon ordered.

Stefan unfolded a black shirt and leather jacket. "Tell me you didn't plan this little jail break," Stefan challenged him, "right down to the change of clothes."

"What? You don't keep a spare?" Damon flashed a conspiratorial smile.

"In case things get bloody," Stefan realized. He stripped off his shirt and pulled on the fresh clothes. He wadded up the bloodied shirt and tossed it into the trunk.

Damon eyed the shirt with distaste as he reached past it to grab a blood bag. He flipped the bag toward his brother. "Appetizer," he grinned.

Stefan took a long pull. "You realize that with this thing," he held up the blood bag, "you just undid Lexi's insta-decade without blood."

Damon shrugged. "It's my thing, undoing Lexi's work."

Stefan grinned and took another long pull. "So where to, the Grill?"

"For what I have in mind," A mischievous smile spread across Damon's face. "I was thinking someplace a little less conspicuous."

XXXXX

Damon and Stefan stood in the road, outside a nameless bar, facing off.

"I couldn't leave you in a cell to rot," Damon said, his voice full of emotion.

Stefan flashed a mocking smile. "Aw, better be careful brother. Your humanity's showing." Damon's furious punch caught him in the jaw, knocking him flat. Stefan sprang toward his brother, only to be met with a boot in the ribs. A second kick flipped him onto his back. Stefan writhed on the payment coughing out a laugh.

Damon's car pulled up before Stefan had even stood up. "Get in," Damon ordered. Stefan dropped himself onto the seat. Damon hit the gas hard, peeling down the road.

"You like me like this, drinking with you, riding in your car, wearing your big bad black shirt and leather jacket. Are you trying to turn me into you?" Stefan teased.

"You could do worse." Damon relaxed back, one arm over the seat.

"I was more than prepared to leave _you_ in a cell to rot," Stefan said matter-of-factly.

"Proves my point," Damon said smugly.

"What point?"

Damon frowned momentarily. "Humanity isn't all it's cracked up to be,"

"So why do you dangle mine in front of me like some kind of carrot?" Stefan challenged him.

"It also has its benefits," Damon said lightly. "Like, I don't know…Elena?"

"I'm outta here," Stefan said, vaulting over the door of the convertible, even as it sped down the highway.

Damon slammed on the brakes. "Taking the scenic route home?" he called, exasperated.

"I'll work with you to take out Klaus." Stefan leaned forward, his hands on the door. "But make no mistake. I'll go where I want. I'll kill who I want." He took off Damon's jacket and tossed it into the car.

"Don't let me stop you." Damon waived him away with a flourish." Fly, little bird, be free!" He gunned the engine and left Stefan in his dust.

Hours later, Stefan walked silently into the house. He leaned against the library door, watching his brother build a fire.

"Get your fill of murder and mayhem?" Damon asked without turning around.

"Something like that." Stefan poured himself a drink.

"You were tracking down Klaus." Damon said.

Stefan didn't contradict him.

"I'm not trying to control you." Damon flashed a charming grin over his shoulder. "Influence maybe. Prod, cajole."

"You couldn't even if you wanted to," Stefan said, stone-faced.

"Don't give me this you're-not-the-boss-of-me, baby brother, crap," Damon snapped. "You haven't been in my shadow since you were fifteen years old."

"Yet here you are, hovering, trying to reel me in." Stefan cracked a dead smile.

"If you want to take off after Klaus is dead, I won't stop you." Damon broke into a knowing grin. "I'll hold down the fort. Make sure your girl is safe."

"She hasn't been my girl for a long time," Stefan countered.

"Sure, Stefan," Damon drawled. He flung another log into the fire, causing the flames to flare angrily. "By the way, she got Rebecca on our side," Damon added with a hint of admiration.

"Can't say she isn't smart." Stefan nodded. He poured a second glass and held it out for Damon. "Michael will be here in two days."

Damon accepted the glass. "You've been busy," he said, impressed. "The pieces are clicking into place." He raised his glass in a toast. "To freedom."

Stefan's face remained impassive, but he clicked his glass against Damon's.

_**Wednesday September 1, 2010**_

_**Damon let me out of the cell. He was in such a hurry for some brother bonding, he didn't bother to bring me home to clean up, just tossed me a shirt and jacket from the trunk of his car and took me out drinking. It's strange wearing Damon's clothes, like slipping on his persona.**_

_**He likes to pretend for a few moments that we are the same, sharing a couple shots of bourbon and a couple shots of barmaid. He has to know that it's impossible for me to walk that line the way he does, despite his lectures about not falling over the edge and learning how to just be. He dances on the bar, eyes in the back of his head, making sure I don't go too far and decapitate yet another blonde.**_

"_**I owe you," he said. "Can't leave you in a cell to rot." He is determined to win me back my freedom from Klaus, but he doesn't realize that as long as he has me, he will never be free either. He will live countless lifetimes of guilt, and unfulfilled hope, because I won't ever let him die.**_


	5. Chapter 5

5 1862

A teenage Stefan watched from the roof of the Salvatore carriage, intrigued, as Damon, dressed in a formal jacket and tie, helped Christina Gilbert out of the carriage and led her to her door. The young woman seemed completely enthralled by Damon, even allowing him to kiss her directly on the mouth, her full skirts pushed aside as her body pressed into Damon's. Christina's younger sister, Georgia, peeked out the window of the Gilbert parlor as they approached. When Stefan's gaze shifted towards the window, she quickly shut the drapes.

Damon climbed onto the carriage's roof beside Stefan. Stefan manned the reins as they rolled down the road, the horses moving at an easy trot. Stefan studied his gloating brother curiously.

"How do you that? Make them fall in love," Stefan asked, guiding the horses onto the road.

"You'll soon have them swooning at your feet," Damon reassured him.

"They don't notice me, Damon," Stefan lamented. "They want you."

"True, I am the better looking, more charming brother," Damon preened. "But you don't realize what you've got, Stefan."

"I guess not. What have I got?" Stefan frowned.

"Your sincerity will trump my flattery any day." Damon threw an encouraging arm around Stefan.

"I'll be happy if they remember my name," Stefan countered.

"They'll remember a lot more than that," Damon promised.

Stefan began to protest when a young slave in torn clothing stumbled onto the road and fell in front of the carriage. Stefan pulled up sharply, the horse's hooves narrowly missing the man. "Jimmy?" Stefan gasped.

"Mr. Stefan, Mr. Damon?" Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief. He turned sharply at the sound of howling dogs approaching. "You can't be seen with me. You know what they'll do to you," He scrambled to his feet, terrified.

Damon reached over and took the reins from Stefan. "Get in," he ordered. Jimmy hesitated. Stefan met Jimmy's eyes and nodded once. Jimmy jumped into the carriage and was knocked off his feet as the carriage jostled to a start. "Ya!" Damon yelled with a snap of the reins, urging the horses into a gallop.

"Wait," Stefan said, placing a hand on Damon's forearm, as they rounded a bend into a wooded area. Damon peered at him curiously. Stefan grabbed the reins and pulled them to a stop.

"What are you doing?" Damon asked urgently, "We need to put some miles between us and those dogs."

Stefan jumped down and opened the door of the carriage. "I need your jacket, Damon," he said apprehensively. "And get in." Damon scrambled out of his jacket, shoved it into Stefan's outstretched hand. Shooting Stefan a skeptical look, he climbed into the carriage. Stefan climbed in behind Damon. "Jimmy, there's something I need you to do," he said urgently.

A few minutes later they charged out of the woods, careening around the next bend. A group of six men on horseback stampeded across the adjacent field, shooting at the road in front of the horses, causing them to rear up in panic. A pack of howling dogs followed close behind the men, their handler trailing. One of the riders pulled up beside the Salvatores' horses and grabbed the halter, slowing them to a stop. He ignored the black driver dressed in a sharp jacket and shiny boots.

"Good evening, Mr. Fell," Stefan said to the lead rider, stepping out of the carriage and shutting the door quickly behind him.

"What brings you out this evening, Stefan?" Tobias Fell asked, studying him.

"Just returning home from the dance in town," Stefan explained. "Nice evening. Thought we'd go for a ride."

"Are you hiding someone in there?" Tobias asked.

"It's just me and my brother," Stefan replied. His eyes flicked nervously toward the carriage.

Tobias pointed his gun at Stefan's chest. "Open the door, now," he commanded. Stefan slowly did as he was told.

"Tobias, old friend," Damon slurred drunkenly, an empty glass in one hand and a whiskey bottle in the other. He lounged, half lying on the seat, hair askew, his shirt open at the chest, bare feet propped on the seat opposite. "We're out for one last hurrah, before we lay down our lives for the honor of the South. Come join me for a drink!"

"Not tonight. Escaped slave on the loose," Tobias said. "Goes by the name of Jimmy. Lockwood boy. Keep your eyes open."

"We'll be sure to do that." Damon waved him off casually, taking a long swig from the bottle.

"Somewhat out of your way, aren't you?" Tobias addressed Stefan again.

"Thought I'd give Damon a chance to sober up before we face father," Stefan said.

"Good luck," Tobias shook his head.

"Long live the South!" Damon waived the bottle awkwardly, sloshing some whiskey onto Tobias' shirt. Tobias stepped back with disgust.

"I'll leave you to your business," Tobias said with disdain. "Keep your wits about you. Those slaves will just as soon stick you as look at you."

"George here will get us home safely. Won't you, George?" Damon asked drunkenly.

"Yes sir, Mr. Damon, sir," Jimmy replied smartly.

"See that you do," Tobias Fell ordered. "Come on men, our quarry awaits." He turned his horse around and headed across the field followed by the others.

Jimmy waited until the riders crested the hill, then urged the horses into a walk.

"Genius, little brother, hiding him in plain sight," Damon laughed, punching Stefan's shoulder. "And cool under pressure," he added with pride.

Stefan beamed, then climbed out and joined Jimmy on the roof. "Something happen at the Lockwoods'?"

"George Lockwood beat a field hand to death tonight. It's just a matter of time before he comes after me," Jimmy said.

Jimmy stopped the horses when they reached the next county. "Heard there's a Quaker family down this road. They can help me on my way." He jumped down and handed Damon's jacket back to him.

"Keep it," Damon said, pushing it back, "and the boots. Winters can get cold up north."

"Thank you Damon, Stefan." Jimmy folded the jacket carefully and placed it in his haversack. He bowed once, waved, and disappeared into the thicket by the road.

Stefan turned the horses around and headed back down the road. Damon climbed up beside him, juggling the glass and whiskey bottle. He poured a finger of whiskey and handed it to Stefan.

"It took a lot of courage to save Jimmy," Stefan said, gazing admiringly at his brother. "I wish I had half the courage you do."

"Don't know if I would call it that. And you were the one with the real plan. I didn't think past getting him into the carriage." Damon gave his brother an approving nod. "You kept your head tonight, little brother, and saved a man's life. I would follow you anywhere."

"I wish I could follow you to the war," Stefan said longingly.

"I would never wish it on you," Damon said sadly. "This might be the last good thing I do in my life."

"Don't say that," Stefan countered with youthful optimism. "You are going to make us proud in the war."

Damon tussled Stefan's hair. He held up the bottle in a toast. "To freedom," he grinned.

Stefan held up his glass. "To freedom!" he echoed enthusiastically.


	6. Chapter 6

6. Untethered

"Thank you, my friend. You no longer have to do as I say. You're free." That quiet, compelling voice locked Stefan in place while it simultaneously untethered every cell of his being. Stefan closed his eyes and took a breath. He fell back a step, as if the marionette strings holding him upright had been severed. He turned toward the spot where he had just wrestled the white oak stake out of his brother's hand, only to find it empty. An overwhelming sense of loss consumed him. He turned back to Klaus, his eyes questioning but Klaus' hopeful smile held no answers.

Stefan turned from Klaus without a second thought and walked out of the house. He picked up his pace at the driveway and hit the road In a full out sprint. A car squealed to a stop inches in front of him. The passenger door swung wide. Stefan looked in guardedly.

"Going somewhere stranger?" Katherine taunted, her eyes sweeping hungrily over him.

Stefan studied her warily. "I have some things to take care of back at the house."

"You may not be that welcome right now," Katherine warned.

"It's still my house," Stefan countered. He disappeared into the woods and sprinted to the boardinghouse, emerging from the trees just before the driveway. The sound of glass shattering in the fireplace stopped him in his tracks. He recognized the roar of the fire as it consumed the liquid the bottled had contained.

Damon's voice resonated over the crackle of the flames. "We're never getting Stefan back. You know that don't you?" Damon said hopelessly.

"Then we'll let him go. Okay?" Elena replied, her voice clear. "We'll have to let him go."

Stefan's posture stiffened, his face a blank mask. He turned around and walked away. Katherine's car waited for him on the road at the end of the driveway. Stefan silently climbed in, and sank into the seat, closing his eyes. Katherine didn't bother to glance at him. She simultaneously hit the gas and the speed dial on her phone. Damon's voice reverberated in the car.

"Not interested in a play-by-play of our failure, right now, Katherine."

"I'm just calling to say goodbye. I don't know what to tell you. You had a good plan Damon. And that's high praise coming from me." Stefan peered at Katherine mystified at the sincerity in her voice.

"That's not very comforting at the moment."

Stefan turned away from the unmistakable defeat in his brother's reply. He stared out the window, shutting himself off from the conversation.

Katherine finally turned toward Stefan. "He doesn't know where it all went wrong."

"He doesn't need to know," He answered, his face devoid of emotion.

XXX

Stefan climbed out of Katherine's car, slamming the door. He placed his hands on the doorframe and leaned over, giving Katherine a silent nod. Katherine's eyes softened for the briefest moment, then instantly recaptured her signature sultry gaze. She gunned the engine. Stefan raised his hands sharply as the car skimmed past him and disappeared down the highway.

Stefan leaned against a mile marker, studying the oncoming traffic. Katherine's words played back in his head. "Get mad," she said. Stefan's face twisted into a look of pure fury. When a truck approached, its hood emblazed with its company logo "Standard Moving," he was instantly alert. Stefan examined the vehicle, noting that it rode high on its axels, indicating a light load. He sprang as the truck approached, landing on the passenger side runner before climbing in.

"What the hell!" the burly driver yelled, swerving wildly. His eyes darted toward Stefan, sizing him up. He shoved a hand past the food wrappers and empty bottles of pop scattered under the seat and snatched out a gun. Stefan instantly ripped it out of his grip.

"Eyes on the road," Stefan growled. The driver broke into a cold sweat, his body visibly shaking.

"Pull over here," Stefan directed as they approached a rest stop. The driver complied, pulling into the rest stop and cutting the engine. He collapsed over the wheel, breathing hard. The man turned fearfully toward Stefan, but could barely meet Stefan's gaze

"Look at me," Stefan ordered. "Your name?" Stefan pressed, locking onto the man's eyes.

"Ben," the driver replied in a tremulous voice.

"What's in the back, Ben?"

"Only a couple dollies. Delivered my load to a house in Mystic Falls yesterday," Ben explained, his words tinted with fear.

"Tell me about the delivery," Stefan said sharply. "Everything you know."

"Beds, furniture... house about a mile from town. Family's arriving in ten days. New job or something. Dispatch doesn't tell me much."

"Where's your partner? Don't you normally work in pairs?" Stefan demanded.

"He's on another gig. They needed more bodies. I have to bring this baby back to dispatch."

"Well Ben, I have a job for you too." Stefan flashed a satisfied smile. "We're heading back into town."

Several minutes later they pulled in at an industrial park. "Back up here," Stefan directed. Ben deftly maneuvered the large truck into place, it's tailgate lined up with Klaus' sixteen wheeler.

"Open the back," Stefan ordered, then jumped out and opened Klaus' trailer.

"Coffins?" Ben asked, backing away. Stefan clamped an arm on Ben's shoulder and caught his eyes. "You will do as I say until I tell you to go." Ben nodded blankly. "Move the coffins into your truck," Stefan ordered. They completed the work quickly, Stefan doing much of the lifting while Ben strapped the coffins into place.

"You are a weirdly strong man," Ben said, as he pulled onto the highway again.

"Take me to that house outside of town," Stefan ordered. Another few minutes and they were at a house on a sparsely populated rural street. "Pull in around back." Ben drove the truck up the driveway to the back of the house. Stefan eyed a lock box hanging from the door knob.

"Lock box code," Stefan demanded. Ben recited the numbers dully.

"Wait here." Stefan retrieved the keys and opened the door. He tested the house, toeing one foot past the threshold with a satisfied smile. He walked through the house, scoping out each room, noting the recently delivered furniture scattered about. He stopped in the large, empty living room. Only a couple of mattresses were propped against one wall. He nodded with satisfaction and returned to the truck.

"We're putting them in the living room," he told Ben. They worked silently, quickly slipping the coffins into place. Before he let him leave, Stefan grabbed Ben's wrist, biting hard, and drinking fast. He tore a strip off Ben's shirt and tied a rough bandage around his wrist, capturing his eyes again. "Get in your truck and get back on the highway. Forget we met."

Stefan leaned against the wall in the living room until the truck pulled onto the street and disappeared. He checked the caskets and discovered that they were unlocked. He opened them in turn, finding two daggered males he didn't recognized. The third held Elijah. He tried the fourth. It unlocked easily, but unlike the others, he could not lift the lid.

Abandoning the caskets temporarily, Stefan retraced his path through the house, thoroughly checking, closets and cupboards in every room. The house was relatively new but slightly dilapidated, suggesting it had been vacant for a while. The electricity and water were still on, a leaky tap in the upstairs bath leaving a rusty stain in the sink. There wasn't much dust, suggesting cleaners had recently been through, preparing it for the new residents. Stefan explored the yard outside. An ax was in embedded in an old wood pile by the garden shed. A rusty crowbar and rake lay abandoned in a shed, but other than the recently delivered furniture, the house was bare. He left the rake in the shed and brought the ax and crowbar back to the living room.

Stefan slipped the crowbar into the lip above the lock of the casket and attempted to pry it open. It didn't budge. He attempted to pry the hinges apart. Nothing. He slammed the ax into the casket. It bounced clean off. He hammered it with all the power he could muster, the foundation of the house shaking under the force of his blows. Still nothing. Finally, he threw the ax aside and stalked out the door. He needed something more powerful than brute force.

He slipped into the trees behind the house and cut through the woods toward the Lockwood property. He detoured into a dense thicket, moving swiftly and soundlessly, stopping to watch and listen every few yards. He pushed aside a few branches, revealing his car. He popped the trunk and pulled out a duffel bag, then quickly replaced the camouflage. He blended into the trees, arriving a few minutes later in the parking lot of the local home improvement warehouse.

A security guard turned the corner at the far end of the building a cell phone to his ear. "Another dead night," he complained into the phone. "I really need to quit this job." He snapped the phone shut and pocketed it roughly. Stefan materialized in front of him.

"We open at 6 am," the guard said unflustered.

"You should open 24 hours," Stefan replied, his eyes capturing the man's "Where are the blow torches?"

"Aisle five," the guard droned. "Why do you need a blow torch at 2am?" he asked through his mental fog.

"Plumbing mishap," Stefan shrugged. "You should have quit yesterday." He latched onto the man's neck, drinking fast. He dumped the semi-conscious victim at his feet.

Stefan pried open the store's sliding doors, the gears of the mechanism snapping under his strength. He made his way down the aisles, ignoring the shrieking alarms, as he selected a blowtorch, and fuel. He exited from the cargo bay and disappeared into the trees just as a second guard turned the corner running frantically toward his partner, who lay bathed in the eerie glow of the flood lights.

Stefan returned to the house, let himself in and walked straight to the living room. He left his gear on the floor and opened his duffel, taking inventory of its contents. It contained a change of clothes, a roll of cash and a journal and pens. He peeled off some bills from the roll and replenished his wallet.

Stefan picked up the blowtorch. Within seconds he had a concentrated flame. First he aimed it at the coffin's lock and hinges, but the metal remained cold to his touch. Next, he tried to burn the wood, but it remained pristine. He put the blowtorch down with a frustrated thunk. He flipped one of the mattresses onto the floor and sank onto it. He picked up the journal and pen.

**Tuesday September 17 3am**

**My first act of freedom, when Klaus released me, was to look for my brother. Unsurprisingly, he was already long gone. I may have saved his life, but I have lost him just as completely as if Klaus' hybrids had killed him. I've lost Damon. I've lost Elena. I am more trapped than ever. Everything I tried to build in the last century has been systematically dismantled, poisoned beyond reclamation.**

Stefan let the book fall, the pen rolling away across the floor. He picked up the blowtorch and tried the coffin again.

XXX

Stefan dropped the empty blowtorch, just as the first rays of sun began to creep through the windows. He scrubbed a hand across his face, swiped the journal and pen from the floor and scribbled angrily.

**Tuesday September 17 7am**

**Klaus took everything from me and I will take everything that ever had any meaning, away from him. I will shred him.**

Stefan snapped the book shut and tossed it on the floor. He pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Stefan! Miss me already?" Klaus asked cheerily.

Stefan smiled coldly to himself. "I'm just calling to thank you for my freedom."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Happy New Year! Hope this new year brings you many happy surprises. Thanks for your wonderful support for this story.

AFANOFTVD

XXXXXX

**7. Immaterial**

_**Sunday September 12, 2010**_

_**It's been almost a week since I took Klaus' coffins. He hasn't appeared. Everything is in stasis, waiting for the next shoe to drop.**_

_**Elena has taken to running. She is up by six every morning putting in mile after mile, running as if her life depends on it. She comes home and rousts her brother out of bed, pushes him towards school, then pushes herself out the door. After school she pushes him towards his shifts at the Grill, which he invariably blows off, but she continues to push him and herself towards some semblance of a normal life. **_

_**Damon has insinuated himself into their lives. He invites himself to dinner. He teases and mocks his way through the tension and makes Elena laugh. He is systematically carving out a place for himself, yet he invariably brings me up. He commiserates with Elena about what a pain in the ass I am, plying her with embarrassing stories. He never lets her forget about me. It's as if he is acting as a placeholder, saving a spot for me. I doubt he even knows. He spends his nights at her window, disappearing before she steps a foot out the front door. He goes home and crashes for a couple hours, then escapes into the vortex of the Grill. He emerges just before the final school bell of the day, to repeat it all again. I am invisible, nonexistent. I have less substance than the witch spirits.**_

_**I went to the witches for help with the coffins. The house was silent. I couldn't see or hear them, but somehow they got their message across: 'Wait'. I come back every day, begging them to do something. Yesterday the answer was different. 'Soon'. **_

_**Bonnie has been acting increasingly distressed. She's been waking up in the middle of the night, her breathing erratic, calling for Elena. They sit outside every lunch hour, their heads together in whispered conversation. Today they met at the Grill. Bonnie left early, her steps hurried and purposeful. **_

_**I'm here with the witches. Their answer, finally: 'Today.' Bonnie is on her way.**_

Stefan tucked his journal under the cushions of the dilapidated sofa in what was once the front parlor of the witch house. He took the stairs into the basement two at a time and slipped into the shadows in the corner of the room. A few short minutes later Bonnie approached the house, one slow, cautious step at a time. He watched from his post as she descended the stairs and peered warily around the basement, her back to him.

Stefan stepped out of the shadows. "Hello Bonnie."

XXXXX

XXXXX

"I don't have enough power to hide four originals!" Bonnie backed up in fear.

"You're a witch. You hate Klaus. I know you can figure something out." Stefan insisted.

"Do you realize how much you hurt Elena?" Bonnie yelled.

Stefan didn't so much as blink at her accusation. "Do you want to help destroy Klaus or not?"

They stared at each other, neither one giving up any ground. Eventually Bonnie sighed. "What do you need?"

"I have them in a temporary location. They need to be moved somewhere more secure."

"Why not here?" Bonnie asked.

"Fine," Stefan nodded. "I'll get a truck tonight. We can approach from a different direction each time. Stay on the roads. Bring the truck as close as possible, then I'll carry them in the rest of the way."

Bonnie scowled.

"What?" Stefan asked

"Where are they now?" Bonnie asked, her eyes sparkling with the glimmer of an idea.

"A house at the outskirts of town," Stefan replied cagily.

Bonnie crossed her arms. "The address, Stefan. Trust me."

Stefan studied her carefully, then quickly recited the address.

Bonnie took Stefan's arm and led him to a corner of the basement. "Don't move," she ordered. She closed her eyes and chanted quietly under her breath. She paused, listening, and then nodded as if in response to a directive. She changed the chant, repeating the few words over and over again. One hand still clutched Stefan with surprising strength. The candles in the room flamed brightly, then dimmed. Bonnie opened her eyes and grinned at Stefan.

"Take a look." Bonnie swept a hand across the empty room. Stefan stared, seeing nothing. He took a step forward and hit an invisible object. A coffin suddenly materialized in front of him. He looked up and the other coffins appeared.

Stefan flashed Bonnie a satisfied smile. He strode purposefully up to her, his face just inches from hers. "No offense, but your witchy ancestors aren't usually this accommodating. So, what are they getting out of this?"

Bonnie backed up, intimidated. "I don't know what you mean."

"There's a spell on one of the coffins. Won't open. Any idea who's in there?" he pressed.

"I've been having these dreams about Klaus in a coffin." Bonnie said tentatively.

"It's a weapon we can use against him, isn't it?" Stefan interjected, a cold gleam in his eyes.

XXXXX

XXXXX

Stefan and Damon stood in empty basement of the Witch House. A few stray beams of light filtered down the stairs, highlighting the dust motes, drifting in the air. "The witch spirits hate Klaus as much as we do. They´re using their powers to hide the coffins," Stefan explained.

Damon grinned. "So even if he comes in the house..."

"...he won´t be able to find them," Stefan finished for him.

"Looks like the good witches of the south have this thing well in hand. Let's blow this popsicle stand." Damon slung a casual arm over Stefan's shoulder, turning him towards the stairs.

Stefan brushed Damon's arm away. "I'm staying here."

"To do what? Make sure no one finds the dematerialized, invisible coffins?" Damon taunted him. "Don't you think the fact that you're here standing guard, might send up some red flags?"

"Klaus doesn't know where I am. I'd like to keep it that way as long as possible."

"What do you think I'm gonna do?" Damon argued. "Put up a neon sign saying Elvis is in the building?"

Stefan slammed Damon against the wall, throttling him. "You may be in this with me, but we're doing it my way," he insisted.

Damon shoved his brother away. He turned to leave, but stopped at the top of the stairs to look down at his brother. Stefan had settled into the broken down lawn chair, twirling a pen absently. "Just come home," Damon said quietly.


	8. Chapter 8

**8. Too Far**

Stefan gunned the engine and peeled away off Wickery Bridge. Elena quickly diminished to a dot in his rearview mirror. He hit the speed dial.

"Nice convoy of hybrids heading out to highway 41," Damon mused over the phone, his voice smug. "Make sure you give them a friendly wave on their way out."

"Left Elena at the bridge," Stefan said flatly.

"You did what?" Damon answered sharply. The phone clicked off.

Five minutes later, Stefan pulled into the boarding house garage. He remained in the darkened car, staring at his windshield, his face a stone mask. Elena's voice crept into his head: - "How could you?" –he shoved the thought aside and got out of the car.

XXXX

Damon sauntered into the house. He found Stefan pacing in front of the fire, glass in hand, his journal abandoned on the sofa.

"There he is, the hero of the hour!" Damon announced, pouring himself a glass of bourbon. "Or should I say the master villain?" He raised his glass in a toast to Stefan. Stefan shrugged the complement off and continued to pace. "Didn't think you had it in you," Damon admitted.

"I'm a ripper, Damon," Stefan spat.

"Big difference between ripping a person's head off in a blood-driven haze and systematically using the person you love most in the world in a brilliant tactical maneuver against the biggest baddie of all time."

"How's Elena?" Stefan asked coolly.

"Do you even care?" Damon studied him, head cocked to the side.

"Not really," Stefan answered, his voice flat. He downed the last of his drink, savoring the burn.

"She's been through it before, being used, betrayed, terrorized. She'll get over it." Damon said matter-of-factly, then added with exaggerated pride, "Have to hand it to you. I couldn't have done it any better. You got the job done and to hell with the collateral damage."

"Enough!" Stefan roared. He launched himself furiously at Damon. Damon stepped easily aside, as if he had predicted the attack. He shoved a boot into Stefan's gut, sending him rebounding against the far wall. Stefan launched himself again. This time he anticipated Damon's move and caught Damon with an arm across the chest, slamming him into the floor. He delivered a vicious punch to Damon's face, then another and another, his rage rising with each blow. They fought brutally, bones crunching, healing instantly, and cracking again. Stefan seized Damon's shirt and hurled him into a chair, splintering it into pieces. He swept up a broken chair leg, as he flew at Damon, landing with a boot on his dazed brother's chest, the makeshift stake in his hand.

Damon met Stefan's furious expression with the briefest flicker of empathy.

"_How could you, Stefan?" _Elena's voice assaulted Stefan hard and fast, sharper than any stake. He collapsed onto his knees, reeling from the weight of the guilt he had pushed aside. A keening cry escaped his mouth.

Damon crouched in front of Stefan, firm hands on Stefan's shoulders, anchoring him in place, in an unspoken "I've got you".

Stefan hunched over, head bowed, his breath coming out in painful heaves. "I went too far," he finally gasped.

"Yeah," Damon said quietly.

"Can't deal with this pain," Stefan groaned.

"Focus on the anger. Doesn't hurt as much."

Stefan remained hunched over, gasping in agony.

"Anger, Stefan. Grab it," Damon ordered, shaking Stefan hard. Stefan growled and pushed Damon away.

"Better," Damon said, standing up.

Stefan followed him to his feet. "Can't let that back in," he said sharply.

"Oh, I know you. You'll want it all back soon enough," Damon taunted. "But this will do for now," he added approvingly. He poured a couple of drinks and handed one to Stefan.

"How do you handle so much feeling?" Stefan asked.

"You're asking me?" Damon replied, incredulous. "You're the champion feeler of the century."

"Yeah. It just seems impossible," Stefan said tonelessly. "How are you doing it?"

"Certain people… push me… to feel," Damon mused reluctantly.

"Elena," Stefan nodded knowingly.

"And you," Damon added with a smirk, punching Stefan in the shoulder. "In your annoying, Saint Stefan way." He drew out each word.

"Is that a thank you?" Stefan grimaced, rubbing his shoulder.

"It'll be at least another century before I'm ready to thank you for any of this," Damon groused.

"Thank you," Stefan said, raising his glass.

Damon nodded, then quickly looked away. He began to pick up the pieces of the splintered chair. "You really gotta stop destroying the furniture," he groaned.

"I'll buy you another one," Stefan chuckled. He picked up a few fragments of wood and tossed them into the fire. "Better yet," he began, throwing an arm around Damon's shoulders, "I'll pick up a few Ikea specials. Bring them in by the case, just like the booze. Place them strategically around the house, and aim for them the next time you tick me off."

"Over my dead body," Damon snarled.

_**Monday, September 13, 2010 11:45 pm**_

_**Blood is so systematic in its deceit. A drop every day you can handle. You presume you have it under control. You think you're strong, so you take two drops, which eventually lead to a cup, a blood bag, ten blood bags, a body, a hundred bodies, until all you are is the blood.**_

_**Emotions are just as insidious. Anger is simple, clean. It gives you energy, keeps you moving forward. But soon it turns to revenge, for hurt, for pain, for the pain of loss, regret, guilt, betrayal, jealousy. Guilt for those you loved and betrayed, those whose forgiveness you crave, those that you still love. Love, and caring and compassion which you still remember, they sneak in and bloom again in your heart until they eventually consume you. They change you into a different creature, a real person. And in spite of how much it hurts, that is all and everything I want. To be real.**_


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N THANKS EVERYONE FOR THE MORE THAN ENCOURAGING COMMENTS. WE ARE JUST PAST HALF WAY IN THIS STORY. THANKS FOR STICKING WITH IT IN DURING ALL THE DARKEST PARTS. HOPEFULLY WE'LL HAVE A FEW GLIMMERS OF LIGHT AS WE MOVE FORWARD.**

**AFANOFTVD**

**9. Stop**

_**September 23, 2010 11 pm**_

_**When you embrace the blood, you lose your ability to mourn. I spent the summer with Klaus systematically dismembering body after body, each one less meaningful than the last. But Damon haunted me like a ghost from another life, never allowing me to forget where I came from. He cleaned up after me, getting closer every day. **__**The two girls that I reconstructed like bloody mannequins, and the others before them, did not stop Damon. **_

_**My path was simple and crystal clear. I had to hurt him. It had to be cruel, extreme, heartless, devoid of conscience. Anything less and he would not let me go. **_

_**I knew exactly how to do it. He had opened a place in his heart for Andie. He hovered over her lifeless body, shoulders hunched, hopeless, eyes enormous with disbelief, grief. It is keenly ironic that I was her champion for all those months, while he played at being the abuser. In the end it was too easy. I didn't mourn her at all.**_

_**I shouldn't have gone home. Seeing Damon, remembering Elena. They had too much of a pull on me, bringing back a yearning for something I thought I had abandoned. I called Elena, her voice saying exactly what I knew she would say, planting a seed of hope. I found myself nodding, tears in my eyes. **_

_**The next day they were back, closer than ever, following me into the darkest forest. The bravura was still in his voice, in his eyes, but his body told another story. He looked smaller than I remembered. Can a vampire lose weight? I would have thought that our bodies would be eternally unchanging. But Damon's shirt, which I was positive once stretched tautly across his frame, now hung loosely from his shoulders, the sleeves floppy. The hair longer, also floppier, slightly unkempt, blown every which way by the wind. He seemed to have shrunk in on himself, lost something within that gave him strength. He reminded me of the last fall leaf, clinging desperately to the branch, but knowing that the slightest wind of turmoil would dislodge him from his tether and send him tumbling to the ground. I reached out my hand then and held the leaf in place. I saved him once again.**_

_**A few days later I let even that tenuous thread go.**_

_**It's been ten days since I stopped drinking human blood. In a moment of insane hope I poured out the glass of blood I was holding and came to the woods instead. I didn't quite believe I could do it. I visited that cooler in the basement countless times each day. I even went so far as to pour myself glasses of the stuff, but somehow I was able to set them aside. The hunger is only beginning to set it. I know it will get much worse before it diminishes. It will threaten to consume me, just as thoroughly as the grief and the guilt. **_

_**I'm sorry, Andie. You will never know how sorry I am.**_

_**I need to feel the weight of everything I've done, to take it on, to collapse under the enormity of it. To finally mourn again.**_

Stefan walked quietly through the dark woods, alert to the faintest sounds. A slight rustling behind a dense row of bushes drew him to a buck chewing absently. With lightening speed, he sunk his teeth into the deer's neck. He wrapped his arms around its body, anchoring the struggling animal in place. When the deer's movements grew weaker, he shoved it aside. Stefan fell back into the dirt, fighting the gag reflex that swept over him, as he watched the creature stumble away. He stood up, wiped his mouth and made his way through the trees.

"Drink your fill?" Damon asked lackadaisically, leaning casually against a tree trunk.

Stefan took an involuntary step back. "Are we going back to the taunting and the mockery?" he asked guardedly.

"Nope. But I have a question," Damon began.

"What?" Stefan sighed.

Damon took a step forward, the corner of his mouth raised in a smirk, but his eyes were focussed, purposeful. "In all these years of furry feasts, have you ever killed any of those cuddly creatures?"

Stefan blinked with surprise. "I don't lose myself with them."

"Why is that? And don't tell me the enticing bouquet incites pleasant feelings of altruism."

"I know where the line is with them. I can sense when I need to stop." Stefan said honestly.

Damon placed an encouraging hand on Stefan's shoulder. "It's exactly the same with people," he said gently.

Stefan removed Damon's hand. "It's not for me," he said defeated.

"Haven't you learned anything?" Damon groaned. "Are you really jumping on that starve/binge merry-go-round again? Animal blood just doesn't cut it. It's like drinking water when you're hungry. You fool your stomach into thinking it's full for a few seconds, but then the hunger hits you harder than ever."

"It's my only choice," Stefan said desperately. "I can't keep killing. I can't take the guilt."

Damon scowled at Stefan, his face too close. "So what happens in fifty years when the ride spins you off, or you just get tired of the constant vigilance and decide to take a thirty second break? Are you willing to take the guilt for those bodies? Because I promise you there will be bodies."

Stefan grabbed Damon's jacket and spun him around, shoving him into a tree. "I don't know what else to do!" he roared.

Damon twisted out of Stefan's grasp. He stepped back, giving Stefan a sideways glance."So that little game of Sick and Twister you had going a while back..."

"Why do you have to bring this up now?" Stefan interrupted, staggering as if he had been punched in the gut. "Think I don't see those two murdered girls on the staircase every night when I sleep? Think they aren't the first thing I remember when I open my eyes?" He grabbed Damon by the shoulders and shook him hard, a shake punctuating each tortured sentence. "Think they don't open the door to a systematic procession of all the lives I took in the last three months, of all the lives I ever took? Think I don't feel the guilt every minute of every day?" Stefan dropped his hands exhausted and turned to leave.

Damon caught his shoulder and spun him around, his fingers tearing through the fabric of Stefan's shirt. "Self-pity? You don't get off that easy," he snarled, locking eyes with Stefan.

"What do you want from me?" Stefan roared.

"The other three Twister participants, why didn't they die?" Damon asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Other three?" Stefan questioned, then blinked, remembering. "Would have killed them eventually," he added matter-of-factly.

"Don't lie to me, Stefan. Answer the question."

"I was full. I was toying with them." Self-loathing dripped from Stefan's voice.

"So the Ripper, who has no reason to stop, can stop when he's full, but Stefan Salvatore can't." With a furious push Damon sent Stefan crashing to the ground. "Think about that," he ordered.

Stefan dragged himself to his feet. "I think about it all the time. Hasn't helped."

"Sometimes I think the Ripper is more rational than you," Damon sighed.

"Well, he doesn't have any feelings to distract from his purpose. You prefer him, don't you?" Stefan accused. "He doesn't cramp your style."

"Sure," Damon said, his eyes sad. "My greatest aspiration in life was to see my seventeen-year-old brother separate people from their heads."

"Thought you missed that guy. Wasn't he a hoot?" Stefan asked sarcastically.

"Too high maintenance." Damon rolled his eyes. "You're no picnic, but that guy will drive a person to drink." He pulled a flask from his jacket pocket, took a long pull, then handed it to Stefan. Stefan drank and handed the flask back to Damon.

"You're never going to stop, are you?" Stefan asked. Damon looked at him questioningly. "With the taunting and the mockery," Stefan explained.

"Can't say I'm not a hoot," Damon grinned mischievously.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N – Special thanks to JWAB for inspiring all the best parts of this chapter. This one is as much yours as mine.

**10. Lullabies**

_**September 24 ,2010**_

_**I found Damon at the piano tonight picking out a few notes. I remember the raucous tunes he'd bang out on the out-of-tune upright at the town dance hall before he would turn his attention to the whiskey and the girls. I can still hum the lullabies he played so reverently on our mother's grand piano in the parlor. I sat beside him as a young boy, watching his fingers with awe. I realize now that he was barely more than a child himself. I begged for another song, then another, before the nanny ushered me to my room. She would admonish him to stop, saying the noise would keep me awake, but he always continued to play. And I knew it was for me, the soft notes quieting my little boy fears.**_

_**He's playing again tonight, playing for me, a reminder of a time when all we had was each other. He selects hopeful, strong pieces from the great masters, trying to get a message through where he thinks his words and actions have failed. His playing is beautiful. He will never share this with the world, but he shares it with me. A gift.**_

1852

"Can't catch me!" A five year old Stefan scrambled through the trees and over the low masonry wall at the southern rim of the Salvatore property. In his excitement he ventured further than he ever had before, not realizing he had left his friends far behind. Stefan roamed, not yet concerned, through the unfamiliar woods, exploring the new territory. He eventually stopped and leaned against a large tree, looking around to get his bearings. His eyes caught a shaft of bright sunlight streaming through the trees, signifying a clearing ahead.

XXXXXX

Damon approached a pack of young boys playing in the woods just past the Salvatores' garden. "Where's Stefan?" he asked.

"Hiding," one of the boys replied. "We can't find him." The boy pointed deeper into the woods. "He went that way." With a flicker of concern in his eyes, Damon trudged into the trees.

"Stefan! Olly Olly Oxen Free!" Damon called out, striding deeper into the forest.

XXXXXX

Stefan came to the edge of the woods and stood, half hidden behind a tree, peeking out before venturing into the unfamiliar field. Hundreds of field hands were scattered through the rows, harvesting wheat. One man, lashed to a pole, sagged in the middle of the field. The others continued to work, their heads down as the overseer stalked past them, a rifle in one hand and a whip in the other. The overseer stopped when he reached the pole. He raised the heavy whip high and swung it hard at the bound man's back. Stefan stood rooted in place. He cringed, tears streaming down his face, as the whip cracked against the man's skin, leaving bloody welts. The victim screamed in agony as the blows kept coming, his cries growing weaker, until they eventually faded away.

The overseer reached up and released the slave's bindings. Stefan let out a terrified gasp as the lifeless body dropped to the ground. The overseer turned a murderous glare toward the sound, meeting Stefan's eyes. He aimed his rifle at a still frozen Stefan. The gun went off with a piercing ricochet, sending a bullet into the tree beside him. Stefan screamed and ran blindly into the woods, tripping over roots and rocks, bloodying his knees.

"Stefan!" Damon's panicked voice echoed through the trees.

"Damon!" Stefan called out frantically, as he picked himself up and ran toward his brother's voice. When Damon slipped quietly into his path, Stefan flung himself at his brother.

"He's going to kill me, Damon!" Stefan whispered in terror.

"Shh, I've got you," Damon hushed Stefan.

"Come out here boy, before I flay the skin from your bones!" the overseer roared, his boots crashing through the underbrush.

They froze for a moment behind a large oak. Damon wiped Stefan's tear streaked face, squeezed his shoulder, and then led him out from behind the tree. The overseer towered over the boys, enraged. Damon drew himself up to his full height. Although his slender twelve year old frame only reached the man's shoulder, he stepped forward with all the authority of a plantation owner's son.

"Sands, " he said, leaving out the respectful 'Mr.'. "God help you, if my father learns that you threatened his sons."

"I have complete authority here," Sands bellowed, his face red with fury. Damon didn't flinch. Sands hissed a slow, menacing breath . "You stay away from my fields, or it won't matter who your father is," he said. He turned and stormed back through the woods. His voice, roaring again at the field hands, carried back through the trees.

Damon flashed a smug smile at Stefan. He knelt down to look his little brother square in the eyes. "He has no power over us. Remember that." Stefan nodded in awe. "Now, let's see those knees," Damon said gently. He led Stefan a few paces to a trickling stream and sat him on a rock. "Nothing a little water can't take care of," he said reassuringly as he washed the wounds clean. A few fresh tears rolled down Stefan's cheeks at the sting of the scrapes. Damon ripped his own shirt and tied a makeshift bandage around the worst of the cuts. Stefan looked up at him, his face pale with shock.

"He kept whipping him and whipping him. He wouldn't stop," Stefan said in horror. "He killed him."

"I'm so sorry you saw that." Damon's face crumbled in dismay.

"It can't be right." Stefan said fiercely.

"It's not," Damon agreed.

"Why does Mr. Lockwood let such a bad man watch over his slaves?" Stefan asked.

"I don't know," Damon confessed, then broke into a reassuring smile. "But I know the best person in the world."

"Who?" Stefan asked, mystified.

"You!" Damon grinned, tussling Stefan's hair and making him giggle. "What do you say we go home and clean ourselves up, then see what Cook has on the stove? I'll even play you a few songs."

"Okay." Stefan smiled up at his brother. Damon took Stefan's hand and stood him up. Stefan teetered a bit on his feet, still looking pale.

"How 'bout a piggy back?" Damon offered. Stefan clambered onto his back.

"Will you play Ode to Joy?" Stefan asked from his perch.

"I might even teach you how to play it yourself," Damon laughed.

After supper, Stefan sat beside Damon at their mother's piano. Damon ran a reverent hand across the lid before setting up the sheet music. He smoothed the pages out gently, then began to play. Stefan watched, mesmerized, as Damon's hands ran across the keys. He played a couple of fugues to warm up, then pulled out the music for Ode to Joy. He played the melody through once.

"Do you remember where middle C is?" Damon asked. Stefan pressed the key confidently. "Good!" Damon smiled. "Now put your fingers here." He guided Stefan's hands onto the keyboard. He played the first bar slowly. Stefan's little fingers followed the pattern awkwardly. They played together for several minutes until Stefan tired. "That was great," Damon smiled. "Would you like to hear Mother's lullaby now?" At Stefan's enthusiastic nod Damon began the familiar lullaby their mother used to sing, playing from memory. Stefan leaned exhausted against Damon's side, but his eyes were wide open as he listened to the familiar, comforting music.

"Play it again please," Stefan asked more than once.

The nanny entered the parlor and approached the piano. "Stefan, time for bed."

"Just two more, Miss Mabel," he pleaded.

"Go ahead. You can hear me from your room," Damon reassured him.

"Stefan will never be able to sleep if you continue playing all hours," Mabel said with concern. "What will your father say if he returns home to find your brother still awake?"

"I'll be playing for a while longer, Miss Mabel," Damon said, with a quiet conviction that thwarted any argument.

XXXXX

Stefan climbed onto his bed, but balked at lying down.

"Did something scare you today?" Miss Mabel asked.

Stefan huddled against his headboard. "I think I saw Mr. Lockwood's overseer whip a man to death today," he said, his eyes enormous.

Mabel sucked in her breath sharply. "Did he see you there?" she asked, real fear in her eyes.

Stefan placed his small hand over hers. "Don't worry Miss Mabel. Damon saved me," he said with a brave smile.

Mabel smiled back. "You are a lucky young man to have such a good brother."

"I know."

They both fell silent, listening to the soothing strains of music filling the house, Mabel pulled back the covers and tucked Stefan in. Once Stefan's breathing deepened, she quietly returned to the parlor. Damon looked up at her as she approached, a question in his eyes. She nodded and flashed a grateful smile.

"You're welcome," Damon mouthed, and continued to play, the music filling the house long into the night.

_**September 24, 2010**_

_**Damon is playing our mother's lullaby, painting endless variations in beautiful arrangements he's written himself. He begins with his right hand only, picking out just the clear notes our mother would sing. Then he adds his own accompaniment, blending it seamlessly, filling the house with a rich sound, but always the unmistakable theme remains. I thought I had lost my brother, when I forced him to become a vampire, but I realize now that he never left me. He remembers what he meant to me then, just as clearly as he remembers the music he played for me. His music eased the horror of the first death I witnessed. He chased the nightmares away that night, and many nights thereafter. He was strong, reassuring, reliable. He gave me the courage to grow into a good, strong man. **_

_**I trusted Damon with my life when I was young. Maybe if I do so now, he can protect me from the nightmare I've become. If I take the leap toward humanity, maybe he can help me find the person I need to be. **_


	11. Chapter 11

A/N Thanks everyone for the kind words. You have given me the warmest glow!

11. Brunch

_**Tuesday September 28, 2010 5 am**_

_**Here's to control. I saved Meredith the other night. It would have been so easy to forget myself and succumb to Meredith's blood, smeared across the floor of Elena's bathroom. Its draw was so potent. Asking Elena to accompany me was the best decision I could have made. With her there, I was able to resist the blood and focus on the task at hand. Don't breathe, don't smell. Heal Meredith and bolt out of there. Put a million miles between yourself and that temptation. For a moment I was who I wanted to be, but I don't know if I could do that again. The desire to rip someone apart and drain them of every drop is still there, right below the surface. Will I always be at the mercy of these cravings? Is it even possible to find true control?**_

Stefan and Damon broke through a thicket in the forest, stepping into the rays of sun, duffel bag and crossbow slung over their shoulders.

"Why'd you want to come out here so early? I told everyone to meet us in an hour," Stefan asked, shifting the crossbow to the other shoulder.

"Thought you'd enjoy the sunshine, fresh air, communing with nature," Damon grinned.

"What are we really here for?" Stefan asked.

"Brunch."

"You want to go hunting with me?" Stefan eyed Damon suspiciously.

"Found a great site in the next clearing." Damon adjusted the duffel and sauntered through the trees. A few minutes later they emerged at a small clearing containing a single tent. A couple of beach chairs were placed around a small fire pit. A water jug stood on a low table and a bag of food hung from a branch on the nearest tree.

"This is someone's campsite, Damon," Stefan protested.

A pair of campers appeared at the other end of the clearing. "Right place, right time," Damon proclaimed smugly.

"I'm not doing this again." Stefan turned to go but Damon shot a hand out, anchoring Stefan in place.

"Toast to control was great, but one half dead blond behind the Grill doesn't qualify you for bragging rights,"" Damon said, all business. "So you _are_ doing it again, today, tomorrow, and every day until you have this handled. I've got dibs on the girl." Damon called out brightly to the couple. "Morning."

They turned, startled, their eyes darting to the crossbow. The man took a protective step in front of his partner. "Didn't think we'd run into anyone this late in the season," he said. "Where's your camp?"

"Just out for the day. Target practice," Damon explained, closing the distance in a blur. He caught first one then the other with a focused stare. "Don't run. Don't scream. Don't be afraid." The man stood still, passive. "Who do you think you are?" The woman stepped out from behind her partner and gave Damon a shove.

"Loopholes." Damon chuckled. "What's your name, hun?"

"Jill."

He peered at her, his pupils dilating. "Jill, let's you and I take a seat."

"You didn't answer my question," Jill insisted, dropping herself into one of the chairs.

"We're vampires," Damon said simply.

"Riiight," Jill mocked him. "And I'm Galadriel, queen of the elves, here for the annual convention of wood nymphs."

Damon flashed her a feral glare, fangs protruding and blood-red eyes flashing.

"Can't argue with that." Jill raised an eyebrow. "Logic tells me I should be screaming in terror right now, so why aren't I afraid?"

"Little mind control. Took your fear away," Damon admitted, his eyes focused on Stefan.

"So what gives you the right to act like you own us?" Jill challenged him defiantly.

"Are you always this contrary?" Damon asked.

"Are you always this controlling?" Jill countered.

"Perk of the species. We get what we want." Damon lifted the corner of his mouth in a teasing half smile.

"Are you going to kill us?" Jill asked, getting right to the point.

"Not if I can help it," Damon said casually, still monitoring Stefan who was rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed in turn on the man across the clearing. "You're up." Damon said to Stefan. "How are you going to control yourself?"

"You're asking me?" Stefan asked, incredulous. "Thought you were the one with all the answers." Damon just shrugged in response. Stefan lowered the crossbow and trudged across the clearing. Damon slipped into the other chair and relaxed back with an exaggerated stretch.

"Stefan," Damon called quietly. Stefan stopped, listening, but didn't turn around. "Remember who you are," Damon said softly.

Stefan remained still for a long moment He closed his eyes and conjured up Elena's face, forgiving brown eyes and encouraging smile. Damon's face joined hers, the smile teasing, but the eyes intense, willing him to succeed. Stefan opened his eyes and that same face watched him here. Stefan nodded once to his brother and picked up his pace.

"Why are you watching him so carefully?" Jill asked.

"He's kind of new to this," Damon said, leaning forward, poised to intervene.

"Killing?" Jill asked.

"_Not_ killing," Damon said matter-of-factly.

"That's reassuring," Jill drawled. She thought for a moment, then leaned forward in her seat just as Stefan approached her partner. "Stefan," she called. "I'd really like to keep Nathan for a few more decades, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't kill him."

"Smart girl," Damon whispered with a wink.

Stefan met Jill's eyes with a reassuring glance, then with just a hint of hesitation he was at Nathan's neck. A low growl escaped his throat as he drank, one, two, three seconds, then he ripped himself away, his chin covered in blood.

"That's a pretty sight," Jill said sarcastically.

"Think of it as a two-year-old with cake on his face." Damon smiled as Stefan bit his own wrist and offered it to Nathan.

"That's what we are to you, cake?" Jill chuckled.

"You're more than that," Damon said kindly. His eyes remained locked on Stefan. Finally he turned around and flashed Jill a disarming smile."You're the main course, too."

Jill indulged him with a smile of her own. "Am I going to have nightmares about bloody faces and chocolate cake?"she asked.

"Highly unlikely," Damon drawled reassuringly.

Jill studied Damon. "What are you not telling me?" she prodded.

"Nothing. It'll be as if this never happened," Damon replied, turning his attention back to the other side of the clearing.

Stefan led Nathan to the campsite, poured some water from the water jug, and quickly wiped his face. He soaked a towel and wordlessly cleaned Nathan's neck. "Thank you," Stefan said intensely when he finished.

"You're welcome." Nathan couldn't help but respond to Stefan's sincerity.

"Pretty solicitous for a vampire," Jill observed.

"That's my brother," Damon piped in, sarcasm dripping off every word, then paused and added quietly, the mocking tone suddenly disappearing, "man of compassion."

"You're going to make us forget, aren't you?" Jill said, understanding dawning.

"You always a step ahead?" Damon asked.

Jill shrugged. "Pretty easy to think clearly when you're not paralyzed by fear."

Nathan poured a cup of water and handed it to Jill. "Are you okay?" he asked with gentle concern.

"Yes, you?"

"Almost too good," Nathan said thoughtfully.

"Answer a question, would you?" Nathan turned to the brothers.

Damon smiled indulgently. "Sure."

"Why are you going to so much trouble to keep us alive?"

"It's important to him." Damon tilted his head toward Stefan.

"But you're taking the time to help him," Jill interjected.

Damon just shrugged, his eyes hooded.

"Should we give up camping?" Nathan continued."There's bound to be more of you out here."

"Just live your lives," Stefan answered. "You're more likely to get hit by a car."

"Besides, the vampires around here are a pretty elitist bunch. Wouldn't dirty their hands with something as base as hunting in the woods," Damon chimed in. "So Jill..." he drawled, offering a hand and guiding her to her feet. "Neck or wrist?"

"Do you even have to ask?" Jill grinned. "Neck all the way."

"Don't let me do anything you wouldn't do." Damon winked at Stefan before burying his face in Jill's neck.


	12. Chapter 12

**12. Wounded**

Klaus ranted and howled but Stefan couldn't tear his eyes from Damon, kneeling in a pool of his own blood. The instant Klaus left, Stefan streaked to Damon's side. "Hey," he began, his face a mask of worry. Damon looked at him with childlike vulnerability. Stefan silently pulled off his jacket and threw it over Damon's tattered shirt. In a blur, he swept his brother out of the house.

"You could have let me leave on my own two feet," Damon protested when they reached the car, but his fragile voice couldn't muster any real recrimination.

"Felt it wasn't the right time to pander to your pride," Stefan said, all business. He kept a gentle hand on Damon's shoulder, steadying him.

"Got it," Damon groaned in response, pushing Stefan's arm away. He opened the door and sank into the car seat. Stefan tossed a half dozen blood bags on Damon's lap before climbing in. Damon sucked one dry immediately. "How many do you have back there?" Damon asked, ripping open a second.

"Couldn't find a keg."

Damon studied Stefan carefully. "So what was that thing with Klaus and the stake? We all knew you weren't going to kill him."

"I couldn't let my rage go," Stefan admitted.

"Pandering to your own pride," Damon teased.

Stefan fell silent for a while. "There was a small part of me that thought about going through with it. Just ending it all."

Damon grabbed Stefan's arm, his grip surprisingly strong. "Look at me," he ordered. Stefan turned his gaze reluctantly toward his brother.

"You will never make unilateral decisions like that," Damon said, with a force of authority that drew a silent nod from Stefan. Damon leaned back and took another drink, a look of amusement in his eyes. "So I'm only worth eight stakes to you?" he drawled.

"Couldn't give everything up for you," Stefan said with a sideways glance, the corner of his mouth lifting into a hint of a smile.

"A healthy attitude." Damon raised his blood bag in a toast.

**__****XXXX**  


_**Wednesday September 29, 2010, 2 a.m.**_

_**Damon's been up and down a half dozen times tonight. His injuries appear to have healed, but I know the wounds go much deeper than skin or muscle or even bone. He's trying to stay awake, can't take the chance of reliving yesterday's horrors.**_

_**I don't blame him. I can't close my eyes either. All I see is Damon hanging from those traps, ripping his wrists to shreds, then collapsing onto his knees, barely conscious, eyes rolling back in his head. **_

_**This is my fault. I let my rage sweep away everything that was important. Klaus was absolutely right. I have used him as an excuse, someone to blame everything on, so I could slip on my blinders and deny my own culpability.**_

_**Klaus asked, he didn't order: "How about a drink from the doppleganger's neck?" It was an invitation. I didn't stop to think, to ask myself whether I wanted this. The switch was irrelevant. I still had my mind, but I didn't hold onto myself at all. I let the blood drive me. I let it latch onto the slightest provocation and turn me into a mindless monster. I chose to bite Elena. **_

_**And tonight I allowed my brother to hang in chains, tortured for hours while I pursued a futile vendetta. I am to blame for everything.**_

_**XXXX**_

Damon shot bolt upright in bed, stifling a cry. He stumbled to the bathroom, bracing himself on the sink. He turned on the cold water, letting it run for a long time while he slowly splashed his face. A pair of haunted eyes stared back from his mirror. He fled back to his bed; it was 3am. He cradled his head in his hands.

"Stefan," he called. "I can hear you brooding out there." Stefan walked in, journal and pen in hand.

"Ugh," Damon groaned. "No scribbling or I'll snap that Cross pen in two."

Stefan set the journal on the dresser. "You've barely slept," he said, with obvious concern.

"You're one to talk," Damon quipped.

Stefan ignored Damon's comment. He took Damon's hands, turning them over against Damon's resistance.

"They're healed," Damon protested, wincing as he wrenched his hands free.

"Still sore?" Stefan asked.

"Won't be by tomorrow," Damon said, brushing him off.

"The neck?"

"It's fine." Damon shoved Stefan impatiently away.

"You're still looking wiped out," Stefan observed.

Damon shrugged. "Blood loss and all -"

Before he finished the sentence, Stefan had blurred out of the room. He returned a few seconds later with a couple of blood bags. "Sit back," he ordered. He filled the tumbler on the bedside table and handed it to Damon, who drained it with satisfaction.

"Join me for a drink?" Damon asked, settling against the headboard, legs crossed in front of him.

"No, these are for you," Stefan said pointedly.

Damon sat up studying Stefan closely. "You have impeccable control when you're motivated."

"Has nothing to do with control," Stefan argued.

"Exactly," Damon agreed. "Turn on that overly developed humanity of yours and everything clicks into place."

"Don't know about that," Stefan said flatly, taking Damon's now empty glass and refilling it. Damon drank again, accepting refills as Stefan offered them.

"You're good at this. You should tend bar at the Grill," Damon teased, but his eyes remained serious. "Put that empathetic nature of yours to good use."

"Yeah," Stefan laughed. "I'd be tempted to compel all the patrons' problems away."

"They'd love you," Damon grinned, then fell silent. "How's Ric?" he finally asked.

"Still himself," Stefan replied. "Trying to get some sleep. You should too."

"Not likely," Damon muttered.

"Nightmares?"

Damon scoffed. "We're the nightmares."

"It was pretty bad, Damon. I was there," Stefan insisted. He shook his head against the image.

"You have no idea how bad it was," Damon sighed, looking away.

"Tell me," Stefan pressed.

"She threatened to make me hurt you," Damon laughed hollowly. "As if I need her to compel me to do that." He turned back and squarely met Stefan's gaze. "And Elena."

Stefan inhaled sharply. "I know how it feels to hurt her, to..." he began, but couldn't finish the sentence.

"Don't. I wasn't there to stop you," Damon grimaced.

"You're not responsible for my actions," Stefan said simply, the echo of his brother's words hanging between them.

"Right," Damon breathed, resting back against the headboard.

"You need sleep," Stefan directed. "I'll get out of your hair." He tossed the empty blood bags in the bathroom trash and returned to find Damon asleep, the tension finally erased from his features. Stefan walked to the door and paused, one hand on the knob. Then, changing his mind, he settled into Damon's wing chair to keep watch.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N Given Stefan's hateful confession in the latest episode, I think we can all appreciate a look back at a time when the brothers might have been in a better place. **

**13. The Wall of the Living**

_**Wednesday, September 29, 2010 5 pm**_

_**No matter what I do, I can't tear my mind away from them. They haunt me, eat at me, every minute of every day. There are too many, but what does it matter? Any one of them is enough to drown me in an eternity of guilt. I have these fleeting moments of happiness. I forget one, just for a moment, but I can't allow myself to forget. I must always remember...**_

"Stef!" Damon loped up the stairs to Stefan's room, a casual "Let's " forming on his lips, but the moment he stepped through the threshold, the invitation died unspoken. There was something in Stefan's posture as he hunched over his journal, scribbling furiously. Damon stood right behind Stefan, purposefully invading Stefan's space, but Stefan didn't even acknowledge his presence. One look over Stefan's shoulder confirmed what he suspected, laid out in Stefan's perfectly formed script. Damon ripped the pen out of Stefan's hand, his face a mess of frustration. "Dammit, Stefan. You want to remember people? You want to make a list? Fine let's make a list."

"Give me the pen, Damon," Stefan said, his voice low.

Damon flung open Stefan's closet and pulled out some clothes, pitching them onto the bed. He grabbed a second batch but stopped, dumping them on the floor. "No," he grinned. "This one is going to be out in the open." He pulled a painting off the wall and tossed it aside, cracking the frame, then began to write.

Amber Bradley

Elena Gilbert

Alexandra Jones

Sandra Peterson

Jane Williams

Callie Lewis

Cindy Brown

Nathan Adams

Jill Adams

Damon turned around. "You didn't kill everyone you fed from. If you want to remember people, remember them. The ones you kept alive. Write about _them_." He bit off each word as he spoke.

"Alexandra, Sandra, Jane? Who are they?" Stefan asked. "Cindy?"

"The twister sisters," Damon told him. "Blond behind the Grill."

Stefan stepped back, shaking his head. "I still used them."

"Yeah, but they're not dead," Damon said bluntly.

"Pathetically short list," Stefan observed, drawing close to Damon.

"So make it longer," Damon challenged him, tossing over the pen. Stefan caught it with his left hand and sucker punched Damon with his right, laying him flat.

"What was that for?" Damon coughed, incredulous. He curled up onto one elbow, rubbing his jaw.

"What were you thinking leaving Elena alone in my old apartment when you knew Klaus and I were nearby?" Stefan roared.

"Thought that might come up someday," Damon laughed as he hauled himself off the floor.

"Klaus was inches from her!" Stefan yelled.

A flicker of guilt flashed across Damon's face, but he quickly wiped it away. "Nice little surprise wasn't she, hidden in there with the rest of your vintage stock? " He broke into a teasing grin. "Tugged at the heart strings a little?"

Stefan threw another infuriated punch, which Damon barely sidestepped, catching Stefan's fist in his hand. They stared each other down for a moment, then Damon's resolve crumbled. "Stupid, I know."

Stefan dropped his arm heavily. "I could have really hurt her."

"You didn't Stefan. That's the point. So why's that place still there? Thought you would've gotten rid of it by now," Damon mused.

"I should raze the whole building to the ground," Stefan spat.

"Cleaning house. I like it," Damon grinned. "Heavy symbolism."

"So, what brought you up to my room?" Stefan said, changing the subject.

"Ric wants some long, boring books. Figured you'd be the perfect source," Damon said, with a broad grin.

Stefan shrugged off Damon's jab and walked over to a bookshelf. "Moby Dick," he announced, pulling a thick volume from the shelves and lobbing it at Damon. "Not sure about boring, but definitely long."

Damon weighed the heavy book in his hand. "Knew you'd come through."

"Thought you were supposed to be monitoring him. Why's he got you running errands?" Stefan asked.

"Something about can't relax with me buzzing around." Damon raised his hands in an exaggerated protestation of innocence.

Stefan laughed. "Hard to just 'be' sometimes."

"Come on, I'll buy you a drink," Damon offered. He surreptitiously snatched another volume from Stefan's shelf and headed down the stairs. Stefan dropped the pen on to his desk, then slowly closed his journal.

A few minutes later, they sauntered into an uncharacteristically deserted Grill.

"Where's Matt?" Stefan asked the bartender.

"First game of the season," the bartender explained, sliding two shots in front of them. "Pretty much the whole town is there."

"Strengthening that killer arm," Damon drawled, downing his shot.

Stefan hunched over the bar, staring into his drink.

"Hurts like a bitch, doesn't it?" Damon asked quietly. "Letting it back in."

"Yeah, I think about flipping the switch all the time. I don't need Klaus to compel me," Stefan admitted.

"Give me Rebekah and her knives over a century and a half of guilt any day," Damon commiserated.

"How are you holding up?" Stefan asked, suddenly scrutinizing Damon.

"You know how it is. Easy to hurt, quick to recover." Damon brushed off Stefan's concern with a shrug.

"Come on, Damon. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours."

Damon rolled up his sleeve and forced his arm at Stefan. "Not a scar to show for it,"

Stefan shook his head. "You don't have to hide it. Took me weeks to get past what the tomb vampires did to me,"

"Meaning?"

"The binge afterwards. I think I just had to find some numbness, dull the pain, get lost in the blood."

"Very insightful, Dr. Freud." Damon raised a mocking toast.

"We may not have any physical scars, but the pain lasts," Stefan argued.

"So?" Damon challenged him.

"I'm sorry," Stefan whispered. "I wasn't there to stop her."

They both stared into their drinks "Soooo," Damon said, "Elena wants to get Jeremy in the morning. Up for a road trip?"

"I think you should take her," Stefan raised his eyes to Damon, his brow furrowed.

"What, and let you miss a lovely romantic getaway?" Damon coaxed.

"One of us needs to stay with Ric," Stefan insisted.

"Time's running out on that one," Damon grimaced. "I might have to dig it out of him by more creative means."

"No way," Stefan argued. "I'm not going to let you torture your friend."

"Already killed him twice, what does it matter?" Damon said with a tired voice.

"It matters, Damon."

"Ah, he cares!" Damon flashed an exaggerated smile. "What, are you going to do it?"

"I can do what it takes." Stefan held his brother's gaze, unwilling to bend.

"Try not to kill him, huh?" Damon muttered, downing another shot.

Stefan stared into his drink, spinning his shot glass in endless circles. "What say we add another name to the wall?" he said, fear mingled with anticipation in his voice.

Damon tossed back his drink. "I know just the place," he replied, the side of his mouth rising into a mischievous grin. He strutted out, but Stefan continued to stare at his drink a moment longer. By the time Stefan pushed himself away from the bar, Damon was already pulling up in the Camaro.

"Jump in," he called, barely coming to a stop.

"Where to?" Stefan asked, opening the door.

"A trip down memory lane," Damon replied with an air of mystery. Five minutes later they pulled onto the familiar road leading to the parking lot behind the football stadium.

"We're going to the game?" Stefan groaned.

"Football's our sport," Damon grinned.

"Didn't think contraband beer and mediocre competition held any allure for you," Stefan replied.

"Just get out of the car," Damon directed, pulling into one of the few remaining parking spots.

"So what's the plan?" Stefan asked, vaulting over his door.

"Plenty of pickings: under the bleachers, behind the stands. Lots of young blood charged with hormones and adrenaline. We can grab a quick bite and still have time to catch the fourth quarter," Damon quipped.

Stefan stepped back and peered at Damon. "This is actually fun for you," he realized. He followed as Damon pushed through the abandoned turnstiles just as the whistle announced the end of the third quarter.

"It's just food," Damon drawled, "with the bonus of meeting new and interesting people every day. Well, interesting to you anyway." Damon led Stefan into a tunnel under the stands. "Jackpot." He tilted his head towards a young couple, pressed against the wall, kissing timidly.

Damon blurred right up to the couple. "Did you know that kissing is prohibited in the tunnels on the first date?"

"It's our second date," the boy stammered .

"Now that's a milestone worthy of this romantic location," Damon deadpanned. "What are your names, sweetheart?" he asked the girl with reassuring warmth, a slight flare in his eyes.

"I'm Karen Wright, and this is Robert Smith," Karen said blandly.

"Damon Salvatore, my brother Stefan," he countered formally. "Robert, have you considered what you will do for that all-important third date?"

"Thought we'd hang out," Robert attempted.

"Oh, please, you have to do more than that. Make this beautiful girl feel special," Damon insisted. Karen beamed at the complement. "Take her out for a romantic dinner. I'll stake you," Damon pulled out his wallet to hand Robert a hundred dollar bill.

"Wow!" Robert marveled, wide-eyed.

"And flowers," Stefan added, drawn into the game. He opened his wallet and handed over a fifty, a smile threatening his features.

"How can we thank you?" Karen asked.

"Don't be afraid," Stefan said, locking his eyes first with Karen, then Robert. "This will only hurt for a moment." Karen let out a startled gasp when Stefan's teeth pierced her neck, but soon relaxed into his firm grip. Stefan drank with satisfaction. When Karen grew heavier in his arms he pulled away. He quickly bit his wrist and offered it to her. He looked over his shoulder to see Damon doing the same with Robert, a small trickle of blood at the corner of Robert's mouth.

"You won't remember us," Stefan directed softly.

They were out of the tunnel before Robert and Karen blinked back to awareness. Robert looked down at the bills crumpled in his hand. "Karen, will you let me take you out for dinner tomorrow?" His nervous words echoed down the tunnel.

"That is so sweet," Karen sang.

"Young love...delicious," Damon grinned

"I know that look," Stefan cajoled. "You liked them."

Damon shrugged.

"Watching you like this makes me wonder why you ever felt the need to kill anyone," Stefan said.

Damon turned and met Stefan's eyes, revealing a weight of pain, grief, and feral anger in an unspoken 'you know why' that Stefan understood with every cell of his being.

"Come on, let's see if the quarterback can eke out a win," Damon laughed, wrapping an arm around Stefan's shoulders and pulling him through the crowd.

"Did you at least compel us a couple of seats in the front row?" Stefan asked.

"Tsk-tsk, Stefan," Damon chastised. "Condoning the misuse of power. What's gotten into you?"

After a night of celebratory drinking at the Grill, a laughing Stefan rolled up the stairs to his room, tossing the game-winning ball from hand to hand, the action requiring slightly more focus than usual. He gave the ball a final toss then exchanged it for the pen off his desk. He walked over to the list on the wall and added a name to the bottom:

Karen Wright

He stood back, flipping the pen over and over in his hand before approaching the wall again. Memories began to trickle back, and he started to write. An hour later he stepped away from a wall teeming with names, the barest hint of a smile on his face.

_**Wednesday, September 29, 2010 11 pm**_

_**I have to hand it to Damon. As much as he struggles himself, he knows how to find hope for me. When I look at this new list of names, it makes the weight of that other list more bearable. Not that it diminishes the horrors I have inflicted, but it shows that there is a better path open to me, a path I've traveled before. It gives me hope that I can stay on that path now. As overwhelmingly painful as things have been lately, flipping the switch again is not an option. If the only paths available to me are the life of a ripper or an existence of all consuming guilt, I might as well end it all now. But a life forged of equal parts guilt and hope? I think I can live that life.**_

XXXXX

A/N: As this story winds to a close I want to thank you all for coming on this journey with me. One more chapter to go.


	14. Chapter 14

**14. Gifts**

Stefan walked into his room in the boardinghouse to find Damon sitting on his bed, slowly flipping through the pages of an old volume, his shoulders hunched under an uncharacteristic weight.

"Not too often I see you holding up the world," Stefan said. "What've you got there?"

Damon held up the book revealing a faded SS engraved into the cracked leather. "Made some promises back then that I didn't know were impossible for anyone to keep."

"Can't believe you found that," Stefan said with quiet surprise. He took the book from Damon and turned to the first page. "My name is Stefan Salvatore" it began in carefully formed but imperfect childlike writing. A few stray ink blots marred the characters.

XXXXX

A young man, barely out of childhood ambled down the dusty wagon tracks, his black hair windswept. His haphazardly rolled up sleeves and pant legs, revealed strong arms and legs. He approached a pack of young boys playing in a field by the road, slaver owner's children playing stick ball with the sons of the maids and the field slaves. Boys in sturdy leather shoes and new britches roughhoused with others in bare callused feet that had never known a pair of shoes, their ill fitting pants torn nearly to shreds. They were too young to realize that in a few short years their lives would permanently diverge. As he neared, the game evolved to a duel with makeshift pistols, to dramatic swashbuckling swordfights, then disintegrated into a free for all, a youthful, boisterous melee as they tackled each other to the ground.

"Play with us Damon!" Jimmy, one of the little black boys shouted. Damon let out a loud whoop, picked up a couple of the younger boys and swung them around then tossed them back into the fray. He stepped across the path and up a small hill to where his brother sat solitary under a large leafed tree, elbows on knees, chin cupped in hands. His green eyes followed the action on the road but his mind was miles away. Damon sat beside him and ruffled the boy's already unruly blond hair.

"Holding up the world again baby brother?" Damon smiled

"Damon, you well know that no one individual could possibly hold up the world," Stefan replied, with a seriousness beyond his age.

Damon laughed out loud. "Got tired of that pack of hyenas down there?"

"I was thinking about Mother. What she might have been like." Stefan turned to face Damon, his green eyes earnest. A wave of grief swept unbidden across Damon's face.

Stefan looked stricken. "I'm sorry to ask about her again. I know it makes you sad."

"She was like you," Damon, said in a childlike voice, his eyes far away. He pulled on a smile and ruffled Stefan's hair again. "But she didn't sit around thinking melancholy thoughts, she knew how to have fun, especially on her birthday."

Stefan smiled. "I turned seven today."

"And we need to celebrate!" Damon stood up and pulled Stefan to his feet. He didn't really understand Stefan's pensive moods, but the child in him knew how to appeal to his younger brother. "Let's climb old man Fell's apple tree and throw rotten apples at the cows."

Stefan jumped up and began running. "Last one there has to eat a worm!" he shouted. Damon let him get twenty paces ahead then took up the challenge. They romped through a thicket tripping over roots and branches and splashed through the shallow creek leading to the Fell orchard. Just as Stefan was about to reach the old apple tree Damon grabbed him from behind and swung him around.

"No fair!" Stefan protested. "Your legs are longer than mine."

"You set the terms of this bargain, now you must fulfill them," Damon taunted him, picking up a wormy apple and waving it under Stefan's nose. Stefan squealed in disgust and began climbing the tree. Damon followed him up with practiced movements honed over many years of climbing this and countless other trees. When they reached the crown they agreed to share a fresh apple instead. They relaxed back on a branch. Damon pulled out a small knife and sliced the apple, handing the first piece to Stefan.

"I wish she hadn't died, Damon," Stefan said quietly, chewing thoughtfully on his slice of apple.

"So do I, Stefan," Damon answered. "but you've got me. I'm not going anywhere."

Stefan smiled and pulled an overripe apple from the branch, dropping it onto the head of a cow that had roamed under the tree. The mournful creature let out a bellow of surprise then promptly ate the apple like manna from heaven. Stefan broke out in childish peals of laughter.

A lazy afternoon later they hung by their knees from the lower branches.

"Want to go see what Cook's got waiting in the kitchen?" Damon asked. Stefan's stomach grumbled in response. They expertly extricated themselves from the branches and leaped to the ground. They took off their boots and followed a shallow creek meandering its way to the backside of the Salvatore property. They splashed in the water, the boots swinging on their shoulders, enjoying the coolness on this unseasonably warm fall afternoon. A few minutes later they burst into the kitchen all dirty hands, dusty faces and boyish energy.

"Out! Out of my kitchen with your filth!" Cook, a fierce woman with shining white teeth and flashing eyes, shouted, hustling them back out the door with the force of her personality. "How many times have I told you not to track your dirt into my kitchen?"

"You know we can't resist your cooking." Damon flashed Cook a crooked smile as he snagged a couple pieces of corn bread. "Our stomachs have been growling since the bottom of the lane."

"Don't you turn your charming wiles on me young man," Cook said sternly. She pressed a bar of soap and a stiff brush into Damon's hand and hauled a pail of water that had been waiting by the door out onto the stoop. "What would your father say, seeing you rolling in here like a pack of ruffians?" she chastised them before shutting the door.

Damon helped Stefan clean up then handed him a slice of corn bread. He wrapped an arm around Stefan's shoulders and led him to the front of the house. "I have something to show you," he said guiding Stefan up the stairs and into his bedroom. On the bed lay two small packages wrapped in brown paper and string. Stefan looked at Damon, his eyes wide. "Birthday presents!".

"Open them up." Damon smiled encouragingly.

They plopped themselves on the bed. Stefan untied the first package which contained a small wooden box and flipped the lid to reveal an inkwell and quill pen. "My own pen," Stefan whispered amazed.

"Open the other one," Damon prompted, putting the package in Stefan's hand.

Stefan ripped the paper off the second package and held up a small leather bound book, the initials SS engraved in the bottom right corner of the cover. "A diary," he exhaled in awe.

"Thought you might like someplace to write down all those heavy thoughts of yours," Damon said.

Stefan stood up and carried the items to his child's desk. He placed the inkwell and pen in the holes that had been carved into the desk for just this purpose. Damon stood up and moved to the doorway. He leaned against the doorjamb, watching his brother with satisfaction. Stefan opened the book and flipped through the blank pages touching almost every one. The creak of the floor as Damon turned to leave drew his attention.

"Damon!" Stefan called and jumped from his seat. He launched himself at his brother, wrapping his arms and legs around Damon's torso, almost sending them both tumbling to the floor. "Thank you! I love it!"he chanted all earnestness and glee.

"You're welcome little brother," Damon laughed with pleasure. He swung Stefan around once then placed him back on his feet."Now go use it," he directed with a smile.

Stefan ran back to his desk and sat down purposefully. He opened the book and smoothed out the first page, then picked up the quill and dipped it carefully into the inkwell. He blotted off the excess ink and began to write in simple childlike sentences.

_**My name is Stefan Salvatore. I turned seven years old today. **_

_XXXXX_

Stefan put down the book and looked at his brother. "You followed me into the abyss," he said softly.

"As if I'd let you have all this fun on your own," Damon smirked. He dug in his pocket and flipped a small red disk at Stefan.

Stefan snatched it out of the air and took a quick glance. It was a cheap little plastic thing, with the number 30 etched in faded white on the back. "Thirty day chip?" he asked with surprise. "I haven't abstained from anything."

Damon shrugged casually. "Call it a memento for not making me wait another thirty years." He tousled Stefan's hair, in an action he hadn't performed in a century and a half, and blurred out of the room before Stefan could protest the attack.

Stefan walked to his desk and flipped open his current journal. He turned to a fresh page and began to write.

_**September 30, 2010**_

_**For the last several months I have dragged the people I love through hell. I was determined to live a life driven only by blood. I was past feeling, but my brother never left me alone. He followed me to my darkest place and reminded me of who I was. He dragged me back raving and ranting, and methodically pieced me back together. Then he held onto me, keeping me whole, until I was finally able to hold onto myself. I hated and resented him and wished he would simply leave me alone, but he knew what I needed. He brought me back to myself, the real person, who feels sorrow and rage, compassion and love. **_

_**My name is Stefan Salvatore. I am approaching my 164**__**th**__** year. I am a real person who loves deeply. My brother, Damon, reminded me of this. It was his gift to me.**_

Stefan returned to the bed and reached for his childhood journal again. He read and reread the first entry, as he carefully, almost reverently smoothed out the page.

_**My name is Stefan Salvatore. I turned seven years old today. **_

_**My brother Damon gave me this diary for a birthday present. **_

_**I love him.**_

_FIN_

_A/N A final thank you to everyone for your consistent encouragement. Trogdor19, I hope my ending did justice to this story that has no end._


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